


Past Tense

by Mothia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deadlock Gang, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, I'm Bad At Tagging, Ilios (Overwatch), Mild Blood, Numbani (Overwatch), Oasis (Overwatch), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Recall, Pre-Recall, Slow Burn, Talon (Overwatch) - Freeform, Unrequited Crush, Watchpoint: Gibraltar, until it isn't ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 164,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothia/pseuds/Mothia
Summary: Thread by thread, the yarn is wound. Overwatch, Talon, and the world knit together. Two learn to share the task of flying the friendly skies. Love is a struggle. A lot of things are.





	1. Fareeha “Pharah” Amari

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This started as an experiment to get me to be more patient and write longer stories, but it's now gotten longer than I thought it would and I thought maybe I should publish it. This is a Pharmercy fic, however there's a lot of set-up, so to speak. I'll post the first few chapters relatively quickly, since they're already written, but after that you'll have to wait a bit longer. Shout-out to my lovely friends, who patiently beta-read this and helped me edit and revise. I hope you enjoy it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride and suffering were the hallmarks of her life. She has grown, and learned.

She was always an active, headstrong child. She used to look back at her ancestors, and see that proud tradition her family had come from. They were a long line of warriors and heroes, and from the moment she saw them her eyes were filled with stars. Her mother was the greatest hero of all. Her mother was one of the best people she ever knew.

Fareeha would go visit her at work, sometimes. Trips to the Overwatch Headquarters were the highlights of her childhood. She even liked the plane rides to and from Switzerland. Her father always tried to get her seats on the wings, because she liked to watch the machines fly so much. The headquarters were the real treat though. Ana was always there to greet her family with a smile, and the buildings were dazzling to her young daughter. Fareeha thought it was a privilege to be able to walk among the world’s greatest heroes, and hear their stories. Her mother always had a sad look in her eyes though. Fareeha never understood why until much later in life.

As she grew, opportunities to visit became increasingly scarce. Fareeha’s life became busy, and in time she stopped visiting at all. The last time she ever saw her mother face to face was when Fareeha decided to go off to military school. Ana had been adamantly against it. They had fought over the dinner table; a match that had escalated further than any had before. When Fareeha went to bed that night, her voice was hoarse and there were hot, angry tears in her eyes. Ana left the next day. Her daughter wasn’t there to send her off.

Years later, Ana Amari went missing in action. A few months after that, Fareeha Amari got a letter in the mail, and her world crumbled. Her mother had been officially declared dead.

Ana Amari was the second in command of Overwatch, the global peacekeeping organization that had saved the world. She had been part of the small team that founded it. When she died, the media crowded her family. Fareeha Amari spent that time in a numb daze. She threw herself into her work and thought of little else. Once someone made a comment about how Overwatch was a failure. Fareeha broke his nose and would have broken more too, if she hadn’t been dragged away. That night she sat with her head in her hands. The air was thick and silent. A single thought looped through her head. _She would be disappointed in me._ Over and over. Over and over. And then it clicked. _I am better than this._

Many years ago, Fareeha Amari learned to move on.

 

* * *

 

Several years since Overwatch had been disbanded and outlawed, Fareeha Amari was a decorated war veteran and captain of one of Helix Security’s Raptora squadrons. She had honored her mother’s memory, but had still chosen her own life. In her time serving in the military, Fareeha had earned a nickname that travelled with her to Helix. Her teammates called her “Pharah”. Khalil, her old captain, once told her that apparently “Pharah” also meant something akin to “iron” in English. He said that it suited her. Fareeha Amari was a woman of kindness and iron.

When Overwatch fell, Helix Security International stepped up to take its place. It was charged with guarding former Overwatch outposts while the technology and information was cleaned out of them. It also had contracts to guard various quarantined “god programs”, which Overwatch had handled in the past. Helix Security even took control of Overwatch’s prisons. For Fareeha, it was the closest she could get to achieving her dream. Still, sometimes a bitter feeling would rise in her. Helix Security was Overwatch with its wings clipped. It was just a fraction of what Overwatch had been. She often thought that the world would be a better place, if Overwatch was never shut down.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha looked up through the myriad, shining streets and colorful signs of Numbani. The city’s museum complex was one of the largest in the world. Its museums were buildings of cream colored stone and glass, rising into the air with a majesty and almost pride, as if they knew what they contained. Currently, the complex welcomed visitors with a special exhibit on Numbani’s latest pride and joy—Efi Oladele, creator of OR-15-A, or Orisa, the best security robot in the world. Orisa was actually active and somewhere on the Numabi streets at that very moment, but Fareeha hadn’t seen the omnic on her way here. Admittedly, Fareeha was curious about Orisa, but that was not what she had come here to see.

Set back a ways from the first and “main” building, there was another museum. It had arcing glass ceilings and a smooth, white interior. The Overwatch Museum, home to all the relics of Overwatch’s golden age. Fareeha winced a little when she entered it. She actually hadn’t visited the place before now, and it was clear from the looks that the receptionist kept giving her that people knew. Fareeha reluctantly took off her sunglasses and clipped them to the neck of her shirt. Enough time had passed that people had mostly stopped treating her like some kind of celebrity, but in a place like this, she was bound to get some unwanted attention.

The thought slipped easily from her mind though, as Fareeha explored the exhibits. She supposed she should have felt sad, for what had been and was no longer, but Fareeha Amari couldn’t help but feel a bright, childish glee at what she saw. The items, names, and stories were so familiar. They summoned up the warm golden times of her childhood, when she used to sit with these people and listen to them boast of their glory. There were replicas of armor and weapons, transcripts of mission reports and whole rooms dedicated to Overwatch’s scientific studies. Fareeha had to resist the urge to press her face against the glass when she saw the replica of Reinhardt’s Crusader armor. The real thing, of course, was still in the possession of Reinhardt himself. Fareeha idly thought back to the poster she had of him when she was young. She didn’t quite know where it had gone. Maybe she needed to go dig through her old stuff once she got back…

Her musings were cut short in the following hall. Overwatch had been founded by a small team of 6. 3 of its original members were retired, but alive. The other 3 had died in combat. This hallway was dedicated to them. A statue of Ana Amari stared down at Fareeha. Fareeha stared back for a long moment. Then, she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and quietly sunk into a thoughtful grief.

“She would have been proud of you, you know.” The quiet voice cut through the quiet like a hot knife through butter. Fareeha looked up at the woman that had suddenly appeared next to her. Her light blonde hair was swept up into a messy ponytail, a stark contrast with Fareeha’s neat, dark locks. She was familiar. Very familiar.


	2. Angela “Mercy” Ziegler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A better history, perhaps, than most. It still binds her, no matter how hard she tries to free herself of it.

A childhood spent in an orphanage had taught Angela Ziegler the meaning of despair. She was too young to remember her parents; she was merely told that they were killed in the Omnic Crisis. Still, it is a terrible thing, for a child to grow up knowing that their parents were dead. The pain grew, as the years rolled by and nothing changed. The Omnic Crisis had orphaned many. There weren’t enough families to take them in. Money was spread thin. Times were hard.

But Angela was not the type of person to give in to hopelessness. She was an extraordinarily smart and selfless girl, who instead of lamenting her situation resolved to do her best to get herself out of it. When she eventually did just that, Angela turned around and dedicated her life to helping those in need. She never forgot what hardship felt like, even after hardship passed. Her life had been built on the generosity of others, and in turn she gave as much as she could.

Angela’s education was funded through scholarships, seeing as she had little money of her own. She had dazzling promise though, and graduated high school young. She then set off to medical school, and when she emerged, she rose quickly to fame for her breakthroughs in medical science. She was still very young when she became a surgeon at the top of her field, heralded as a genius. She dedicated herself to saving lives, championing for peace and pacifism. She constantly snubbed the attempts of various corporations to hire her, and fought viciously against rising healthcare prices. Angela always said that the purpose of medicine is to heal, not to make money. She stuck true to this statement when she developed nanobiotic healing technology, revolutionizing medicine. She allowed anyone to use it, pushing to make it more accessible and affordable instead of profiting off of it herself.

It was actually Overwatch that made the first move in her recruitment. They reached out to her first, and invited her to their headquarters for a tour of the facility and a look into the ongoing medical research being conducted there. Dr. Ziegler accepted, and very soon found herself at Overwatch’s doorstep. She thought the giant statue of Strike Commander Jack Morrison was a little bit tacky. She didn’t mention that to anyone, though Ana had once caught her frowning at it. She was altogether more preoccupied with her daughter, who was also visiting that day. Angela had smiled politely at Fareeha, and they were in a commemorative photo together, but the younger Amari quickly slipped from her mind, pushed out by the wonder of Overwatch’s cutting-edge laboratories.

Soon after her visit, Dr. Ziegler was sent an official invitation to join Overwatch. While she was hesitant to join a military organization, she could not deny that they could give her the funding and freedom to help many more people. Somewhat reluctantly, Angela Ziegler accepted, and officially became a member of Overwatch’s medical research branch. In time, she would rise to be its head, becoming one of the most influential and powerful people in the organization. In time, too, her reluctance faded. The people of Overwatch were good people with large and kind hearts. They became her lifelong friends.

As Overwatch was a military organization, Dr. Ziegler used her position in it to specifically work on combat medicine. If violence could not be prevented, then at least the amount of injuries and deaths resulting from it should be minimized. Dr. Ziegler developed her Valkyrie swift-response suit and conducted a great deal of field research, constantly pushing the limits of medical technology. The suit allowed her to actively work on the frontlines, and she would occasionally disobey orders if it meant saving lives instead. Dr. Ziegler’s dedication earned her the callsign of “Mercy”.

Dr. Angela Ziegler distinctly remembers one of her greatest regrets in her time at Overwatch. Genji Shimada, younger brother of the heir to the Shimada crime empire, had been convinced to play a turncoat for Overwatch. He was a free spirit, which clashed heavily with his role in the clan. When his older brother, Hanzo, almost killed him, Genji was extracted and delivered as quickly to safety as possible. Dr. Ziegler was the one that operated on him, and stabilized him. She did not regret that part. A life saved is a life saved, no matter how tattered it may be afterwards. What she regrets is what followed. She received orders to operate extensively on Genji, installing weapons into his body and enhancing his abilities. It was immediately clear that Genji would have a violent life ahead of him, and Angela was deeply reluctant to do it. In the end however, she complied, and watched the man sink into a mire of bitter hatred. When news of Blackwatch’s activities came out, all Dr. Angela Ziegler could think was that she had contributed to all this.

She had a second great regret. Angela got along well with most of her coworkers. The scientists working for Overwatch were, as a whole, a friendly bunch. She and Winston were fast friends, even before they spent days together monitoring Genji and Lena “Tracer” Oxton. However, there were some that she fiercely disliked. Most prominent among these coworkers was Moira O'Deorain, a fellow member of the medical research branch. Dr. O’Deorain was a geneticist, and her work was closely linked to Dr. Ziegler’s. However, where Angela held a strict moral code, Moira had none whatsoever, which lead to a fierce animosity between the two. When Moira was transferred to Blackwatch, Angela was initially glad to be rid of her. Now, she is not so sure if letting Moira out of her supervision was wise.

When Blackwatch’s activities came to light, Dr. Ziegler was absolutely disgusted. As Overwatch was limited more and more by governments all over the world, Angela no longer saw a point in supporting the organization, and resigned. After the explosion that decimated the headquarters, she testified against the organization, citing cracks in its administration and unscrupulous methods. Soon after, Overwatch was shut down, and Dr. Ziegler began to travel the globe, giving aid where it was most needed.

 

* * *

 

She didn’t know what had drawn her to the Overwatch Museum. For Angela, Overwatch was a thing of the past. Perhaps she wanted to remember how good it had been once. In any case, she found herself outside its doors one day, brooding. A passing child spotted her, and stared. It was the thought of being pointed out and then being inevitably mobbed by the media that drove Angela inside.

Some time later, a lone figure caught her eye. It was a woman, tall, and dark skinned. Her black hair was ornamented with gold, and it was this that struck a chord with Angela. She had seen those before. As Angela approached the figure, she saw what the other woman was standing in front of. _Ah. Of course._


	3. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few bad conversations, and maybe a good one later, Dr. Angela Ziegler finds herself on the side of a new Overwatch.

_Lessen the force of your words, my dear. They hurt more than you know._

 

Fareeha holds Angela’s gaze for a heartbeat. Then she shifts her attention back to her mother’s face. The statue wears a hard, stern expression, as stone was wont to be. It stares at Fareeha, almost daring her. Daring her to say something. To break a silence clouded only by the light whispers of air conditioning.

She folds her hands into her pockets. Her voice rasps a bit. “Funny. She never gave me that impression.”

Angela mirrors her stance, slipping her hands into her pockets and studying Ana’s stone visage. She says nothing.

Fareeha turns her head, and gets a proper look. Dr. Angela Ziegler, the best surgeon in the world. Despite the sunny day, she was wearing a black shirt and long white coat. A lab coat? A pair of glasses and a few pens are tucked neatly into its breast pocket. Her hair is ruffled, and there was a darkness under her eyes that makeup couldn’t quite cover. A tired smile touches her lips, as if the doctor were merely enjoying the scenery. Fareeha presses her lips together into a hard line, and turns back to the statue.

“Is it conceited of me to visit a museum that I feature in?” Angela voice wanders, as if it were an amusing thought that she accidentally said out loud. Perhaps it was.

Fareeha turns away and begins walking towards the exit. “I don’t want to talk.”

“It is harder to bear grief, when you grieve alone.” Angela’s voice is distant, and for some reason it makes Fareeha look back. The lights are too bright, she decides. Dr. Ziegler’s coat is as white as the floor. She looks like a ghost, standing there in the too-bright light next to the statue of a dead woman.

Fareeha opens her mouth, and despite her best efforts to be polite, her voice is scathing. “It’s rude, you know, to talk like you knew her so well. You helped tear down what she spent her life building. You can’t pretend to be her friend and then turn right around and then condemn soldiers.” Angela’s shoulders slump. Fareeha narrows her eyes. “I never liked you.” With that, she turns around, and disappears into the next room.

* * *

 

The afternoon sun is already dipping into evening when Angela exits the museum. She awkwardly hurries away, not wanting to be detained and forced to make small talk. She needn’t have worried. The people pay her little attention as they pass. It is close to closing time for the museums. They’re too busy taking last minute looks to notice even Angela’s somewhat conspicuous coat.

Some say the streets of Numabi only truly come alive in the evening. It is a lively city, and at no time is it more apparent when all of its inhabitants are on the way home from work. The streets light up, the banners fly, and the setting sun gleams gold on the sky rails. Music and chatter fill the streets, and the world is painted all the colors of the sun.

Angela takes little notice of the city’s beauty as she hurries through the streets. A tourist couple next to her break off down a side road. Perhaps they wanted to see Orisa. Angela tucks her chin down and keeps on walking, doggedly pushing through throngs of people until they are packed shoulder to shoulder and she can push no more. The city is lost on her. She just wants to go home.

But of course she has no home, not anymore. Such is what a lifetime of travel guarantees. The last time Dr. Angela Ziegler called a place home, she was still part of Overwatch. Now, the closest thing was a hotel room. Hotel rooms were private, and quiet. It was good enough for her. Dr. Ziegler found that a lot of things had been good enough recently. Perhaps she had stopped caring so much. The thought was sour on her mind, much like vinegar is sour on the tongue.

The hotel lobby is verdant green, brightly lit with warm, gleaming lights. An omnic doorman approaches Angela as she enters, but she briskly waves them off. They are the only one to interact with her that evening. The elevator is empty, and Angela makes it clear that she doesn’t want to be disturbed as soon as she makes it into her room. She doesn’t other turning on the lights. She’s tired of lights.

The thick, comforting silence of a well furnished room and a clean, soft bed is broken by a jarring buzz. Angela groans, and reaches into her pocket. Her phone buzzes again, almost more insistent this time. Then it falls silent. Angela stares at it, and puts it back into her pocket. Then she pauses, and pulls it out again. The bright screen stings her eyes momentarily as she opens it. Her fingers tremble, and the breath catches in her throat. The world slows down, focusing onto this screen. Onto those words. It had been over half a decade since the doctor had received anything from the Overwatch Emergency Communication lines.

Angela can do nothing but stare at those words lighting up her palm. All Overwatch communications had gone offline when the organization disbanded, hadn’t they? Perhaps it was naïve to assume that her contact information had been removed from Overwatch’s communications after she resigned, but Angela couldn’t imagine that the UN would have allowed the channel to keep running. This couldn’t be real. It was a prank. Or… Her finger hovered over the message. Or, someone had actually restored the comm lines. She presses down, and a smile touches her face. _Who else could it have been?_

The smile slips away as the brief video plays. Angela rubs her head, and then turns on the lights, rummaging around. She saw some whiskey around here somewhere, and she could really use a drink or two. The glasses clink dully, and the liquor is clearly relatively cheap. It has a bitter note to it, but manages to numb Angela’s mind just fine. She idly thinks that she makes a pretty pathetic picture right now; a 37 year old woman getting drunk on cheap whiskey in the early evening. She thought about it, until she poured herself another shot.

It was well into the night when Angela finally remembered that the emergency comms were two way. She could call back, if she wanted. She wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to, but she was already inclined to making poor decisions that night. Before she quite realized what she was doing, the phone was to her ear and awaiting a message.

“Heeyy… it’s… ‘s Docor… docor? Hah, that sounds funny. Docor… like a uh… hipster fashion brand. Or something. Umm. About the umm… Overwatch thing? Your hair was lovely by the way. Hair? Do gorillas have hair or fur… is that just like… a really big beard… umm, what… what was I saying? Oh yeah about Overwatch. Uh… I’d rather not. Stay hydrated! Bye.” That said, esteemed surgeon Angela Ziegler hung up and promptly went to sleep.

The next day greeted her like a bird. A flipped one, to be precise. That is to say, the next day broke down Angela’s door screeching “FUCK YOU”. When Angela woke up still dressed in her now rumpled clothes, half falling out of her bed, hungover in more than one sense, she figured she had it coming. Angela squints, and clambers awkwardly to her feet immediately before drawing the blinds. The morning light hurts her head. Everything hurts her head, actually. She needs a glass of water. More than one actually, considering how dry her tongue felt and how dehydrating alcohol generally was.

She was halfway through breakfast by the time she remembered the call she had made last night. Cheeks flushing, Angela hurries to find her phone. Her words are fast and tinged with embarrassment. “Hello, Winston. This is Dr. Angela Ziegler. I left an um… unique call last night; I’d appreciate it if you would ignore that. I was having a rough time. I should clarify on what I said.” Angela puts her fork down as her voice takes on a more serious tone. “I advocated for Overwatch to be shut down and I still stand by that. I have no doubts about your good intentions, but an organization like that will eventually do more harm than good. I simply can’t support this. Don’t do whatever you’re planning on doing. You will only put yourself and others in danger.” Angela pauses, and then adds softly. “I’m sorry.” _Click._ The static buzz of the empty line is all that answers her.

Another day came and went before Angela noticed another message had been left for her over the comm line. The timestamp said the call had occurred in the afternoon, which might explain why she had missed it. Angela had spent the entire late morning and afternoon in conference. Angela opens it as soon as she was back in her room. Winston’s rumbling voice greets her.

“I’m sorry you feel like that, Angela. We would be all too glad to have your expertise back here. I’m afraid I will not call this off. You know what’s been going on in the world lately. You know how bad it is. I can’t just sit by and watch it all. If no one is going to help, then I _— we _ have to. Tracer is due to arrive sometime today, Genji says he will be over as soon as possible, and McCree has indicated that he heard the call and will be attempting to find his way to the Watchpoint. But it’s your choice, Angela. Take care of yourself. If you ever need friends, you know where to look.”

Angela slowly lowers her hand. _“If you ever need friends”_. The phase echoes around and around in her head. The room suddenly feels cold and lonely. When was the last time she had seen her old friends? It was… years ago. Her heart aches. A sweeping tide of isolation laps at her as she looks back through the years. It was the kind that made you feel sad, and cold, and empty. The kind that makes you look around and suddenly the world seems paper thin and you feel so small. Small, and alone. Like dust.

A thought: _“They are my friends.”_

Another thought: _“They will get hurt.”_

A last thought, tacked onto the end. _“None of them are doctors.”_

* * *

 

There were a great deal of things to be done. It was no easy task, to clear her schedule completely and arrange for transportation without inviting suspicion. The watchpoint at Gibraltar had long been out of use, after all. It was one of the first to be shut down, and with it went much of anything very important at Gibraltar. The old Watchpoint wasn’t even guarded, seeing as its location inside of a cliff discouraged curious trespassers, while the ones who managed to break in didn’t find much interesting. In fact, after a year or two, Watchpoint: Gibraltar was largely dismissed as a shell of a building that was mildly interesting at best. There was no excuse for Angela to actually go there. There wasn’t much of an excuse for Angela to be anywhere in western Europe. While there were conflicts there, as anywhere else, there was no open warfare, and it was certainly not as bad as the situation in the Middle East and Africa.

It was lucky, then, that Angela already had a habit of disappearing without warning. Her reputation made work out on the front lines of any conflict particularly dangerous, and it was often best that no one knew where she was when she was in the field. It was still awkward though, to cancel things that had been planned for months. Then there was the matter of transportation. Angela tended to drive to where she needed to go if she didn’t want her movements to be recorded. Gibraltar was over 5000 kilometers away. The problem wasn’t that Angela couldn’t drive there; the autopilot could handle all but the most obscure or new roads. The problem was that secrecy was paramount. That meant Angela couldn’t afford to really check in anywhere. That included customs, and hotels. The disappearing stunt would have to wait.

Another stroke of good fortune: Angela was actually scheduled to speak at another conference in around 2 months, this time regarding the applied nanobiology that had made her famous. A conference, which happened to be held in southern Spain. She still had no business in Gibraltar, of course, but it would be easier to quietly smuggle herself into Gibraltar from Spain than it would have been from Numbani.

2 months and one long lecture later, Dr. Angela Ziegler announced that something had come to her attention. Noting that it was an emergency, she hastily cancelled all planned events and disappeared that evening from her hotel in Seville. Later that night, Angela found herself on the beach at Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

* * *

 

Several meters back from the waterline, a tall chain-link fence encircled the grounds. Sheer cliffs rose up on all sides, save for one path that had been carved up to the watchpoint proper. This was gated off and firmly locked. A large sign had been slung across the gate. “DO NOT ENTER” it read in bold black letters. Underneath, the sign more calmly noted: “Property of Helix Securities International. Trespassers will be prosecuted.” The paint was flaking at the corners, and the metal underneath was dull with dirt. The road led up to the watchpoint complex, which was situated snugly into the rock itself. Angela had never actually been stationed here, but she assumed that it was structured much like any other watchpoint. A portion of the cliff jutted out into the sea, and it was upon this that the control center was built. It was a squat, rectangular building flanked by high comm towers. A radio dish protruded from its roof. Across the way, another rectangular building sported a flag. It was too dark to tell what flag it was, but it was safe to assume that this was the Overwatch flag. Past this, the road curved inwards, disappearing into the stone. Angela guessed that was where the hangar and residential quarters were located. Just peeking around the other side, Angela could spot another building. The entire thing looked completely and utterly abandoned.

Angela climbs over the fence with relative ease. It was a bit harder getting her belongings over, seeing as she didn’t want to just heave priceless equipment over a fence and hope that nothing broke. She eventually ends up tying everything together and carrying it over the fence like a backpack. Sure, it was heavy, but years of military training tended to make people strong. The ground on the other side quickly faded from rough sand to gravel to packed dirt. The path was steep, but wide, wide enough for military grade vehicles to drive on it side to side with room to spare. In a few places it was damp enough to turn the ground muddy; Angela almost slipped a few times before she learned to recognize the softer stretches of earth. At the top of the rise, the dirt road faded once more into gravel and then into pavement. A silvery thread of a pilot line glimmered in the middle of the road, curving deeper into the watchpoint.

Up close the facility looked just as abandoned as it looked from the beach. Here, the rush and sigh of the waves was replaced by the sound of wind whistling through the comm towers and the overgrown grass crackling beneath Angela’s feet. The pavement was strewn with gravel and scraps of dead weeds. An owl hoots somewhere on the promontory; a querying call punctuated by Angela’s breathing. The large observation window was completely black. Dull, dusty doors peer morosely out from underneath an overhang. The buzzer looks dead. Angela tries it anyways. No response.

After a while she supposes she should knock. Her fist is tight, but uncertain. The sound rings out into the night. It’s jarring. The owl stops hooting. As if to take up its mantle, a distant cargo ship blares its horn, its lights passing by between the coast and the horizon. The sound echoes off the crags and metal walls around Angela. As it eventually fades, another sound greets her ears. A faint scratching and clanging can just be heard over the wind and waves. Ordinarily, Angela would have mistaken it for some rubbish blowing around or a small animal hiding somewhere nearby. _Ordinarily._ The doors shifts, and then opens just a hair.

Angela blinks at the sudden light. It’s pale and blue, more reminiscent of computer monitors than any sort of normal indoor lighting. Winston’s bulk blocks her view, but knowing him, it probably was actually computer monitors. The gorilla looks like he had been up all night. The hair on his head is ruffled and sticking up every which way, as if he had been running his fingers through it for hours. His glasses are crooked, and half slipping off his nose. Winston smiles, in his toothy, awkward way, and opens the door fully. He looks back over his shoulder, then beckons Angela in with a quick wave of the arm. _Hurry._ His motions seem to say. _Hurry._

The door slides shut almost immediately after Angela is inside. The first thing she notices is that she was right. Multiple large screens are the source of the light in the room. The actual lights are off. Wires and parts are strewn everywhere, and a toolbox lays half scattered on a nearby desk. The second thing she notices is the piles of empty peanut butter jars. She makes a mental note to look into that later. There was evidently no one around to curb Winston’s unhealthier habits.

Winston clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “Uh.. My apologies for that. It’s best not to linger outside when someone might be looking. Which they probably aren’t. But, um, better safe than sorry.”

Angela glances towards the windows, looking out over the main entrance. Winston follows her gaze. “Oh, the windows have these screens of mine over them. They simulate what the abandoned room would look like depending on the amount of light they’re receiving. Handy, right?”

He sighs, relaxing, and then smiles. “I thought you weren’t coming, Angela.”

Angela sets her things carefully on the floor and stretches. “Well,” she begins, “I guess I couldn’t let all of you run off and get into trouble without me. You need a doctor.” Angela shrugs and looks away, absentmindedly rubbing her arm. “So here I am. Until you find another one.”

Winston blinks and deflates a little. “Well, I’m glad to see you for now. Thank you. For coming.” He turns and hastily sweeps some jars off of the desk, digging out a black panel which he props up in front of him. “Athena?” A blue symbol blinks to life on the panel’s surface. “Do we have any rooms available?”

“All furnished rooms are currently occupied.”

Winston scratches his head and looks over his shoulder in embarrassment. “As you’d imagine, the Watchpoint hasn’t really been well stocked lately. I’ve been trying to put everything in order, but…”

Athena pipes up. “There are a few cots in the medical bay. We could move one into a room for now. I estimate it will be another 4 days before the next supply run.”

Angela shrugs, and smiles. “A med bay cot is just fine. I’ve gotten used to it these past few years.” She raises a hand and waves Winston off as he attempts to speak. “Really. You don’t even have to move it. Just show me the way and I can crash there for a few nights.”

Winston opens his mouth, and then closes it. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I just need a good night’s sleep. Knowing you lot, I should enjoy it while I can.”

Winston sighs, and backs off. “Alright. Then… ” He opens a drawer and rummages around. “It’s around here somewhere… You need a comm device. Then we need to link it to the Watchpoint comms and then get you a rundown of the situation and the current state of the medbay and all the agents… Probably need a list of supplies before the next shopping trip—”

“Winston, it is very late at night.” Athena cuts in gently. “Maybe I should show Dr. Ziegler to the bay, and we can resume in the morning?”

“Oh.” Winston huffs, and then adjusts his glasses again. “Right. Yes I think that’d be best. Thank you, Athena.”

“Dr. Ziegler, it is best we stay quiet at this hour. Please follow the lights. I will light up the way.”

Angela smiles, and bows every so slightly to the black panel. “Thank you, Athena.” Then, she addresses Winston. “If there’s no pressing matters to attend to right now, I think I must be off. Good night.”

He nods. “Good night, Angela. Thank you. For being here. Again.” He clears his throat, then turns to a small pile of parts. The last thing Angela hears as she exits the room is the soft clinking of metal on metal and the click-click of a screwdriver.

The watchpoint’s corridors are empty and plain; featureless grey and white panels bereft of any decoration. A strip of lights runs along the ceiling, which dimly light the way. They turn off behind Angela, leaving her in a pool of light, darkness ahead, and darkness behind. Every so often the hall branches or turns. Angela vaguely registers passing a training range. Further down a hall branching to her left, Angela glimpses at least two more. The light moves on.

They stop at a pair of large, metal doors. As Angela steps forward, the lock turns with a click and a hiss and the doors slide open. As they close behind her, the lights flicker on to reveal the large room beyond.

After the darkness of the rest of the Watchpoint, the bright light is somewhat of a surprise. Angela blinks and squints, attempting to assess the room. It is large, and somewhat dusty, but appears well-equipped at a glance. A few doors lead off of it to the side and at the back; Angela assumes these are supply rooms and private rooms. The entire eastern wall is plain and featureless, save for a door in the closer corner. The metal is cut in a way that suggests it moves. A window, perhaps, looking out over the sea.

Angela sets her belongings down next to a cot, and looks up. “Athena?” She calls, somewhat hesitant.

The response is almost immediate. “Yes?”

“Do you have data on the health of the agents living in this facility?”

“I do, Dr. Ziegler, but I remind you that it is late.”

Angela sighs, and sits down. “I know. Let’s.. Talk in the morning.”

Athena hums in agreement. “That sounds good. In the meantime, the bathroom is the first door over on the left-hand side. There are light switches near the entrance and by the office. I can turn them off for you as well, if you ask.”

“I see. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Angela sits there, head bowed, mulling things over. She shakes herself. _Don’t overthink it right now. Go to sleep._ She rubs her forehead, and then rises, rummaging around in her bags for a change of clothes. _Go to sleep._ She bundles an acceptable set of clothing into her arms, and crosses over to the first door on the left. The medbay is cold at night. Angela shivers a little, and hugs her clothes tighter to her chest.

The bathroom is as dusty as the rest of the medbay. More importantly though, the plumbing works, and a few splashes of warm water over Angela’s face leaves her feeling cleaner and more comfortable in moments. She looks up as she dries her face, water dripping from the tips of her hair. The mirror is chipped in the lower right corner. Angela gives it a cursory glance. That didn’t matter. What mattered was the woman staring back at her in the glass. A woman with fiery resolve sparking in her eyes. Angela studies herself, and then reaches out to touch her own reflection.

Tonight, rest. Tomorrow, it was time to get to work. A new beginning was coming with the dawn.


	4. Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends give the best hugs.

Angela wakes up late in the morning, something which she seems to have gotten into the habit of lately. She spends several minutes fumbling around trying to get dressed before she remembers that there is a light switch somewhere near the door. Unfortunately, the room is very dark, and there were just enough counters, screens, and carts between the bed and the door that it took several more minutes, at least 2 stubbed toes, and a great deal of furious swearing for Angela to actually reach the switch.

There were two things to be done as soon as possible. The first order of business was to organize, clean, take inventory of, and restock the medbay. Not an easy task by any means; Watchpoint: Gibraltar was one of the larger watchpoints and it had a medbay to match. Cleaning it and meticulously counting and assessing everything would take days at best. The second order of business was to perform a check-up on all current Overwatch agents at the base. Knowing them, most probably hadn’t bothered to even see a doctor in the last several years.

First, to open, examine, and clean out all the side rooms. The first door was the bathroom, that much she already knew. Angela suspects that the second door leads into the office, judging by the administrative desk out front. However, as she crosses the room to open it, Athena quietly interrupts.

“Dr. Ziegler, perhaps it is best to eat breakfast before you get too into your work.”

Angela stops in her tracks, and turns to look at the exit. “Oh.” She says. “Right. Thank you, Athena.”

“Not at all, Dr. Ziegler. Winson does it too.”

Angela chuckes. “Yes, I can imagine.

“The mess hall is located between the training ranges and the residential quarters. Do you remember the way you came?”

“Yes, just down the hall and to the left, corect?”

Athena hums her assent, and then falls silent.

As for Angela, she makes her way out of the medbay. In the day, the details of the Watchpoint are set in a new light. To her right a short hallway ends in an elevator. In front of her, a long hall stretches straight ahead before splitting off to the left and right. Bright light pours in through the windows (Angela sees now that some of the wall panels can open to reveal glass underneath). The ground and walls are still cool, but the morning chill is quickly melting away. It is quiet. Peaceful.

The quiet didn’t last long. Almost as soon as Angela rounds the corner, she hears a “OOPS” followed immediately by a loud metallic clang and a great deal of laughter. The sounds come from somewhere down the hall with the training ranges. Angela pauses at the intersection and peers down the corridor for a while, before deciding that she is altogether too tired for this and would rather just hurry up and get some breakfast already. Lena’s bright, animated voice follows her down the hall, all the way to the canteen.

Thankfully the mess hall was almost completely empty. It was late in the day, and it appeared that almost all of the agents had a habit of waking up early and eating quickly. Almost. Slouching in a chair with his head propped up with one hand, draped in a red serape and wearing his omnipresent cowboy hat, Jesse McCree was gnawing on a piece of toast. He looks up with a jolt and blinks before lifting a hand in greeting.

“That you, doc? Thought you weren’t joinin’ us.”

Angela shrugs. “Well,” She rounds a counter into the kitchen area and opens the fridge. “I can’t have you going and getting yourself killed, can I?” She produces a pair of eggs and looks around for some butter.

“Aw, thanks for the vote of confidence doc. Oil’s by the knives by the way. In the corner. We ran out of butter last week.”

“Ah.” Angela lights the stovetop and watches the oil spread in the pan. The two share the room in a companionable quiet as they both listen to the sizzling oil and eggs. It’s a good, comfortable sound.

“Oh, and uh there’s coffee in the carafe. I thought you might want to know.” McCree breaks the silence as he finishes his toast and stands up. He stretches, and sighs. “It’s good to have you around, Angela.” He nods and wanders out the door. Angela merely nods back.

A good breakfast and a cup of (somewhat mediocre) coffee later, Angela finds herself back in the medbay. She opens the door to the office, and waves away a cloud of dust that was stirred up by her movement. The carpet is covered in a thick layer of it. A desk sits neatly in the middle, facing the door. A lone bookshelf and a few chairs have been pushed against the walls. There are four duller patches on the far wall; the kind that tape leaves behind when it’s been in one place for too long. The remnants of a poster, perhaps. Angela walks around the desk and opens its drawers. They contain nothing but a few pens, a clipboard, and a pad of paper. Useful, perhaps, but not special in any way. Angela supposes anything special would have been removed by now. She starts a list as she steps outside to investigate the next room. _Dust and vacuum office. Wipe down furniture. Scrub and mop the bathroom._

The next room over was a supply room. Its lightbulb is flickering a bit. The shelves are empty, save for a few cardboard boxes. 2 are brown and cube-shaped. They’re unmarked. One is smaller, flatter, and white. Annela recognizes the name on the label—the box at least originally stored medication. The two brown boxes are empty. The white one is half full, but its contents are all expired. Angela wrinkles her nose and pulls all three boxes outside, setting the white one aside to be properly disposed of.

The 4th door leads into what appears to be a cramped janitor’s closet. It looks to be fully equipped, though Angela had to admit that she didn’t actually know what that meant in regards to janitorial closets. Brooms and mops were leaned somewhat haphazardly against the wall, with a matching bucket or dustpan at their feet. Rags and bottles of cleaning spray hung more neatly on either side. There was even a pair of vacuum robots in the closet, though it was doubtful as to whether or not they were still working. Angela left the door open. She was probably going to be coming in and out quite frequently anyways.

The next few rooms were operating rooms. Almost everything would need to be resterilized or, in the case of equipment such as scalpels, replaced. Angela winced a little as she made some mental calculations about the cost. Poor Winston was going to have an aneurysm trying to budget this.

The medbay itself wasn’t half bad. It needed a thorough cleaning, but all the necessary equipment was there. Angela opens the large eastern window and finds, much to her surprise, a balcony with a nice view of the ocean. There is nothing out there, but a quick step outside for some fresh air and sunlight is invigorating. The wind carries scents of the sea, and a hint of rain. In the distance, a tanker blares its horn and chugs along through the choppy water. A few seagulls circle overhead, cawing and peering down, hoping for some food from the human. They are disappointed as Angela retreats back inside.

Angela is standing in the middle of the room, clipboard in hand, deep in thought when the door wooshes open behind her. She barely has time to look over her shoulder before she is tackled by a streak of whooping blue light.

“Angie! What have you been up to? When did you get here? Winston told us you weren’t coming! We were right gutted when we heard.” Lena Oxton throws her arms around Angela and squeezes.

Angela wheezes, and pushes her off with a laugh. “Easy there Lena. Oof, you’re strong for someone so small. I just got here last night. How did you know I was here?”

“Oh, I heard something in here. Was wondering if a monkey had gotten in or something.” Lena huffs. “But you’ve been here since last night? And it took this long for me to find out?”

Angela smiles, and reviews her checklist again. “I’ve been tidying up around here all day. Anyways, how about you? Are you doing well? Eating healthy? Drinking water? Getting enough sleep? The accelerator’s not misbehaving?”

“Oh stop it you.” Lena smacks Angela in the shoulder. “Besides, you know that Winston would be on it if there was anything wrong. I’m fine.”

Angela grins. “Well, in that case, you can help me clean. These counters aren’t going to wash themselves, you know.”

Lena opens her mouth, then closes it. She opens it again. “I walked right into that one.”

Angela turns around, and cheerfully begins to organize a nearby countertop. “Indeed you did.”

 

* * *

 

It was lunchtime before Angela saw anyone else. Lena’s help expedited the process considerably, but the workload was tremendous and both women were ravenous by the time lunch rolled around. They left the bots (which actually still worked!) to vacuum while they walked down the the mess hall together. “Walked”, as in Angela walked and Lena went blinking off ahead and back again, evidently impatient about how slow Angela was.

Overwatch agents didn’t necessarily eat together for breakfast. So many of them woke up at around the same time that they usually ended up sharing a table anyways. For lunch and dinner however, they made a concentrated effort to eat together. It was a tradition designed to encourage team bonding and chemistry. So it was that Angela was finally saw just how many agents were actually at the watchpoint. It wasn’t many. There was Winston, McCree, and Lena, which she had already spoken to. Aside from those three, there was only Reinhardt, who greeted her with a hearty cheer and a clap on the back that almost toppled her over, Genji, who nodded and waved, and an omnic, who was a stranger to Angela. She supposed this was Zenyatta, whom Genji had mentioned in recent correspondence.

“Ah Dr. Ziegler! It is good to see you! When did you get here?” Reinhardt’s voice is booming.

Lena chips in. “Since last night,” she says. “Can you believe it? No one said anything!” She throws an accusatory glance in Winston’s direction.

Winston adjusts his glasses and huffs. “It was very late.”

“Oh, and I suppose you just forgot for the first half of today?”

Winston shrugs. “Yes.”

As Reinhardt and Lena set up a chorus of mock offended spluttering, Genji waves Angela over and bows. “Angela. It is very good to see you again.”

Angela nods back. “And you, Genji. You seem well.”

Genji brightens. “Yes! I have found peace in the many years since we last spoke.” He gestures at the omnic. “This is my master, Zenyatta. Master, this is Dr. Angela Ziegler. The one who saved my life.”

Zenyatta’s voice is smooth and calm. “I am pleased to meet you, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Likewise. Genji has told me much about you. I am glad to finally meet you.” Angela nods to Zenyatta as well, somewhat unsure of what she should do.

The omnic hums. “And he has told me much about you.” He pauses. “Now, we can tell each other about him, no?” If omnics could smile, Angela was sure Zenyatta would.

Genji cuts in abruptly. “Master why…”

Zenyatta’s voice is teasing. “There is a balance to everything, my pupil. But enough talk. The food is going to get cold.”

Angela blinks. ‘You can’t eat… can you?”

“No.” Zenyatta turns to look at the rest of the agents in the room. “But I can share in the social aspect. It is very valuable.”

Angela follows his gaze. Lena, Reinhardt, and Winston were now discussing the properties of peanuts while McCree wore an expression that said he had dozed off and was now absolutely baffled. She snorts. “Yeah. Valuable.” She cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey! It’s lunchtime isn’t it?”

Reinhardt does an immediate heel-pivot, nearly elbowing Winston in the face in the process. He crosses over the the stove and opens a massive pot. “Yes! I made soup!” He beams proudly. “There is lots of protein to make you strong!”

A collective groan and some shuffling later, everyone is seated. Genji, who doesn’t eat, merely takes a seat at the end of the table and watches. Zenyatta, who floats and does not appear to be capable of sitting in a chair, merely hovers next to his pupil. They both seem happy. Everyone seems happy.

Angela looks around, and sets down her spoon. “I would have thought Torbjörn would be here.” She frowns. “Did he…”

“..Die while you weren’t looking?” Reinhardt hoots. “No, no, he is too stubborn for that. Torbjörn is on his way. He has merely chosen the worst possible mode of transportation for a dwarf.” McCree chuckles and Genji snorts as Angela raises an eyebrow. “Our diminutive Swedish friend is walking across Europe!”

Angela stares at Reinhardt. “He’s… he’s _walking?_ Across Europe?”

Reinhardt shrugs. “ _Ja._ Said he was going to investigate a bastion sighting.”

Angela frowns, a crease developing between her eyebrows. “That doesn’t explain why he’s walking.”

“Perhaps Torbjörn is just being meticulous in making sure nothing is going on.” Genji suggests.

“But he’s old. And short. He’s hardly fit to go backpacking across the wilderness.”

Reinhardt cackles. “I will be sure to tell him you said that.” He takes a swig from his cup. “Anyways, Brigitte has gone off to make sure he finds his way here safely.”

“Brigitte? Don’t tell me you’re still dragging her around and getting her into trouble?” Angela’s eyes are bright and incredulous.

“Ah, I do not drag her anywhere. She follows me because she chooses to. Besides, we do not get into trouble.” Reinhardt gives Angela a toothy grin. “We get into adventures! For honor and glory!”

Angela’s eyebrows lower. “That’s… somehow worse.”

Winston clears his throat. “Torbjörn has assured us that he will be fine. If he isn’t, he is able to contact us at any time. But speaking of contacting us, I need to give you this.” He reaches out and hands Angela a small communication device. She studies it, and then clips it in her ear. “I uh. Hooked you up to the system last night.”

Angela sighs. “Instead of going to sleep, I’d imagine? Well, thank you. But do make sure to take care of yourself next time.” She stands up, and wanders over to the dishwasher. “By the way, are any of you free today?”

Winston looks up curiously. “There is nothing scheduled today, if that’s what you mean.”

Angela claps her hands together. “Great! The medbay still needs tidying, and the sooner that’s done the sooner I can go to work. So, if none of you have anything else to do…”

Lena covers her mouth with a hand and snickers. “Oooh, you’re good at this.”

Angela performs a mock bow. “Why thank you, Lena. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

Winston manages to avoid the chores by citing his work on a hard light “bubble barrier”, but the rest are wrangled up and herded down to the medbay by Angela. Admittedly, it is more fun to clean when there are friends to chat with and throw things at, and as an added bonus each agents’ skills contributes enough to make the whole process exponentially faster. By the time evening rolls around, the last mop is put away, and the medbay is tidy and clean enough to satisfy even Angela’s critical eye. Now all that needed to be done was restock, but that would have to wait for the time being.

Angela stretches, sighs, and claps her hands together, nodding in approval. “Well! That was much faster than I thought it would be. Very nice job, everyone!” She looks over her shoulder as people begin to move towards the door. “Of course, I’ll have to see all of you back here tomorrow for check-ups!” The collective groaning that follows is punctuated by her bright laughter.

 

* * *

 

Angela leaves the window open over the night, and is woken up by the sun early in the morning. As she gets changed, she looks up towards the ceiling. “Athena, can you monitor vital signs?”

The reply is swift. “I am capable of it through certain technology, like Winston’s suit. I don’t do it though. Winston seems to think I nag him about his health too much.”

Angela snorts. “Oh? Well I suppose I shall have to start filling in for you. In the meantime, please keep track of the diet and exercise habits of the agents and keep me informed about that.”

“Oh course. Oh and, Dr. Ziegler?”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t have to look up if you want to talk to me. In case that was inconvenient.”

Reinhardt is the first one that Angela manages to flag down and call to the medbay for a checkup. She looks up as he pokes his head in through the door.

“ _Grüezi_ , Reinhardt. How are you feeling today? Come, sit down on the counter right here.”

“ _Guten morgen_ , Dr. Ziegler! I am doing well.” Reinhardt plops himself down on the indicated seat.

“Oh?” Angela pulls out a pair of glasses and perches them on the bridge of her nose. “That is good to hear. Before we get started, is there anything I need to know about? Any changes in your diet or exercise?” She sighs. “I suppose you’re still drinking beer on a regular basis.”

Reinhardt nods. “Absolutely!”

Angela sighs again, and writes something down on her clipboard. “I don’t have your medical history for the last several years either… Have you been to a doctor in that time?”

“Ah, yes. We—Brigitte and I that is—stop every so often to find a doctor and make sure we are both healthy.”

Angela grunts. “Let me guess. It was her idea.”

Reinhardt grins. “Yep!”

“Well, good for her. Have you been staying up to date on immunizations?” Reinhardt nods as Angela continues to write. “I suppose I’ll have to trust you on that, won’t I?” She puts the clipboard down. “Well, this will be relatively quick, since you don’t have any prosthetics. To be clear, I just need to conduct a physical examination, do some hearing and sight tests, a screening, and…” She taps her pen on her lip. “I’ll want blood and urine tests too.”

Reinhardt snorts. “You call that quick?”

Angela shrugs. “Keep track of how long this takes, and then ask Genji how long his was at the end of the day. Oh, and don’t even get me started on Lena.” Angela scowls. “Trying to take care of someone who is naturally lost in time is a migraine and a half.”

Angela was right. Aside from Zenyatta, who merely had to link himself to a diagnostic machine and do a scan, Reinhardt’s exam was the fastest out of all the agents. McCree couldn’t seem to stop drinking or smoking, and his hand required a very thorough examination to make sure the nerves were functioning properly. Genji was forced to patiently wait as Angela checked and double checked his entire system. (“It is hard to make sure cybernetics and organic tissue are working together properly.” She later explains to Zenyatta.) Winston had to sit through more tests and questions than normal, due to his… unique circumstances, but he was already used to it (“They used to do this a lot on the moon. Almost every other week at some point.” He commented.)

From there Angela spent the rest of the day carefully documenting all of the results, filing it all away on her computer. Much to her relief, it seemed that everyone was actually reasonably healthy. Tomorrow, Angela had conspired with Winston to organize an all-team training session in which she could take some more data on strength and endurance. And after that? After that all that was left to do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Grüezi" means hello   
> "Guten morgen" means good morning—particularly early morning


	5. Spark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final pieces of the foundation are laid.

It was a sunny day when Mei-Ling Zhou arrived. She appeared on the slopes, climbing towards the watchpoint not long after the morning fog had burnt off, much to her dismay. The woman carried a giant pack of her belongings, and her clothes were altogether far too thick for the climate. She persevered though, and greeted Angela with a tired, but cheerful smile.

“Dr. Ziegler! It has been a while, hasn’t it?” She wipes some sweat off her brow. “You look just as young and beautiful as when I last spoke to you!”

Angela smiles, and reaches out to help Mei with some of her luggage. “Thank you, Mei. That is high praise. You look quite young yourself, but I suspect that is for reasons different than mine.” She watches Mei flop down next to the nearest air conditioning vent. “Let’s get you some water. Did you not bring any cooler clothes?”

Mei smiles sheepishly. “Well, at the ecopoint I didn’t have any of course. I bought some later in my travels, but I couldn’t pack them all so I just wore everything that didn’t fit. It was fine, until the blaster ran out of frost, and well…” She shrugs off a few layers of clothing, visibly relaxing.

“Blaster? I haven’t heard about this.” Angela returns with a glass of water as Mei nods her thanks.

“Ah, _xièxiè_ , Dr. Ziegler.” She lifts the cup to her lips and takes a long, slow gulp. “I suppose you wouldn’t have. I haven’t really told anyone about it.” She unzips her pack, and rummages around in it. “Here!” She pulls out a tank and what appeared to be some sort of gun. “I call it the Endothermic Blaster! Um, usually there’s this fluid in the tank, and it shoots out of the blaster see, and it makes ice. I used it to repair the comm tower back at Antarctica.”

Angela leans closer, and peers at the blaster. “I see. Well, you’re in luck, Mei. We finally managed to furnish some more rooms just yesterday. You can pick which one you want. Come on, I’ll help with your things. We can get you properly equipped later.” Saying this, she straightens up and gathers up a few things in her arms with a grunt. Mei scrambles to her feet, and dusts her pants off.

Mei was greeted enthusiastically by the others, especially Lena. As it turns out, Lena was an avid reader of Mei’s journals. When the subject was broached, Mei explained that she had received the recall broadcast, but had no way to reply. She had set off to Watchpoint: Gibraltar as soon as she could, but frequently got derailed to investigate and bring light to the many climate concerns she discovered on her way. She was happy to help with any missions, but she also wanted to keep travelling around helping the Earth when she could be spared.

“After all,” she adds, “I don’t have any combat training. Not like the rest of you. I’m not sure how much I can help in the field.”

“Nonsense, Mei. You’re brilliant. We are all glad to see you among our ranks.” Angela pats her on the shoulder.

“Angela’s right. Thank you for coming.” Winston smiles, in his sort of warm, awkward way. “Anyways, I need to get you set up. In the meantime, the rest of you can go back to whatever you were doing.” He addresses the agents sitting and standing around the table. “I’m sure Mei would like some space.”

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, the Watchpoint awoke to an uncharacteristically nervous Torbjörn loitering around one of the back entrances. The place was rather overgrown; Angela thought that if Torbjörn only backed up a little ways into the bushes, he would be very well hidden. Torbjörn had sent a message as soon as he arrived, and Winston had gone to fetch him. Angela was there also, as she saw the two talking.

Angela spots Brigitte standing a ways back as she peeks through the door. She frowns. Brigitte blinks, and casts a nervous glance to her side. Angela’s frown deepens. If she knew anything about the Lindholm family, it was that they were never this fidgety. Torbjörn, in the meantime, had pulled Winston aside for a very hushed conversation. After many moments of what looked like furious debate, Winston looks up.

“Angela,” He says. “Would you say everyone here at the watchpoint is trustworthy?”

“What?” Angela’s brow furrows. “I-Well, yes. Of course, but why do you ask?”

Torbjörn taps Winston on the shoulder. “I think it would be best if we had a talk with everyone first.”

Winston looks down, and adjusts his glasses. A nervous tick of his, Angela thinks. “Ah. Yes, of course. But…” His eyes drift over to Brigitte.

Torbjörn follows his gaze. “Ah, don’t worry about it. You have my word.”

Winston pauses, then nods. “Right. Come on then, I’ll call a meeting.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for all the agents to assemble in the conference room. Reinhardt was there first, never missing an opportunity for some good old fashioned ribbing. Lena was rather surprised to have been beaten when she appeared in a streak of blue light in the doorway. McCree came ambling in a few minutes after, followed shortly by Mei. Somewhere in the mix, Genji and Zenyatta had slipped in as well. Angela had to admit that she had no idea when, or how. One had no footsteps, and the other could climb walls.

Once they were all gathered, Winston tapped the table to get everyone’s attention, and then began. “Well, as you all know by now, Torbjörn and Brigitte have finally made their way to Watchpoint” Gibraltar. But they have um. Some news that may be alarming.” He nods at Torbjörn.

“Hm. Yes, well. That’s one way to put it.” Torbjörn shakes his head and sighs. “As you know, this year I heard of a rumor that a bastion unit had been spotted in Sweden, and went to investigate.” He pauses to let the nods and murmurs pass. “Well, the rumor was true.” He glares and waves his claw in the air as the table erupts.

“A _bastion_ unit? And it’s active?” Lena leans forward, instant worry on her face. Reinhardt, surprisingly, says nothing. His eyes are dark and shadowed. Angela’s knuckles are white. They all have fought some form of bastion unit before. They all remember it all too well. Lena stares at Torbjörn in astonishment. “I thought they were all destroyed or deactivated at the end of the Crisis! After the whole Null Sector fiasco, even the plans were destroyed!”

“SHUT UP!” For someone of such small stature, Torbjörn has a very loud voice. “Yes, there was an active Bastion unit. Model E54, to be precise. My original plan was to catch and deactivate it. When I finally did find it though… it wasn’t aggressive.”

“A non-aggressive E54 Bastion unit?” Reinhardt snorts. “I watched many good soldiers die to those. You and I both did. Do you really believe that?”

Zenyatta interjected smoothly. “We can think for ourselves. Our true nature is not written in our code.”

Torbjörn shoots him a dirty look and mumbles something. “Yes, I’m sure it’s not aggressive. I threw things at it and the only thing it did was try to teach me how to help some beavers repair their dam. Later, it gave me a flower. The thing’s even got a bid nesting on it. It’s fascinated with nature. I’ve never even seen it use its gun, much less go into sentry mode.”

“How wonderful.” Zenyatta muses.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Torbjörn, it seemed, still nursed a dislike for omnics. “Anyways I.. brought it. Here. It’ll be in the bushes outside, if it hasn’t wandered off to go pet seagulls yet.”

Before the table erupted immediately into chaos. Now, it was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Reinhardt was the one to break it. His voice was slow. “There’s an E54 bastion unit. Here. Right now.” He looks up slowly. “You should know better than anyone what those guns can do.”

“Please.” Torbjörn looks around imploringly. “It just wants to sit and admire the flowers. At least give it that.”

“Overwatch protects innocents.” Lena traces slow patterns on the tabletop with a fingertip. “That means all of them. Some heroes we would be, if we turned away a bastion just because it was a bastion.”

Zenyatta and Genji nod in sync. After a moment, Reinhardt nods too. McCree just shrugs and dips his chin in assent.

“I trust you.” Mei puts her hands on the table. Angela throws her a glance, then nods as well.

Winston looks around, and grunts. “Well then, it is decided.” He turns to Torbjörn. “Welcome to Watchpoint: Gibraltar.”

 

* * *

 

Angela was outside for a morning walk when she spotted Genji and Torbjörn hauling wooden planks around. Curiosity piqued, she follows them, calling out. “Good morning, Genji, Torbjörn. What are you two up to?”

Torbjörn merely keeps walking, grumbling something under his breath. Genji stops, turns, and waves. “Good morning, Angela! We are building a garden for Bastion. They are very excited to raise some plants of their own!” As Angela draws closer, his voice lowers conspiratorially. “If all goes well, maybe we can even get some chickens for them.”

“Oh! That’s lovely.” Angela looks around. “Where is Zenyatta? I would think he would be very interested in this.”

Genji beckons her as he and Torbjörn round the corner. “Come see!” He calls.

Angela follows them, picking her way through the rocks and bushes. Around the other side, a small area has been cleared. Some posts have already been placed in the ground. Tools and more scraps are strewn about. In the middle of it all, Bastion sits on the ground, focused intently on a book. Angela sees an illustration of a watering can and some shovels on the page it is open to. Zenyatta floats at Bastion’s shoulder, pointing at the words and talking in a low voice.

“Bastion was designed to fight. They do not know very much about gardening, so Zenyatta is helping to teach them.” Genji sets his load of planks down on the ground and surveys the scene. “We thought about asking Mei, because she would know more about how to tailor it all to this ecosystem, but my master can understand Bastion and answer their questions, you see.” As he says this, Bastion looks up and beeps. Zenyatta looks up also, and waves.

“Huh.” Angela waves back. Bastion chirps happily. “Well, I could ask her about anything, if you’d like. I spend a lot of time with her in the lab.”

“Oh! That is very kind.” Genji raises his voice. “Master! Is there anything we need to ask Mei?”

Zenyatta’s reply is clear and soft. “Perhaps about which plants would be best suited for Gibraltar.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know what she says.” Angela waves again. “I’ve got to go. Good luck on your endeavors!” She calls as she walks back around to the front of the watchpoint.

The watchpoint almost seems dim after the bright sun outside. Angela pauses to pour herself a cup of coffee, and then wanders into the laboratory. The watchpoint only has one, though it is large and has enough equipment to function as multiple. Winston tended to conduct his research and build prototypes in the control center, but both Mei and Angela preferred a proper lab. Mei was already there, hair pinned up in a messy bun, frowning at a formula she’s written. She looks up and waves as Angela enters.

“Good morning, Mei. How are you doing today?” Angela sips her coffee, and puts it down to procure and unfold her glasses.

“I am well, Dr. Ziegler.” She turns back to her notepad and frowns. “I have been trying to come up with a better formula for my ice fluid.”

“Oh?” Angela pushes her glasses onto her nose and wanders over. “Having any success?”

“No, not really.” She sighs, and crosses something out. “I’m a climatologist, not a chemist…”

“Ah, well, I would love to help but I’m not much of a chemist either.” Angela takes another sip of coffee. “Winston’s a physicist and I specialize more in biomedicine.” She laughs. “We’re all hopeless when it comes to this, aren’t we?”

Mei scratches her head, and throws Angela a smile. “It’s a miracle I even managed to make it in the first place.” Then she shakes her head and goes back to staring intently at the piece of paper covered in her scribbles.

“Do you need a break Mei? I ran into Genji, Zenyatta, and Torbjörn outside just now. They were wondering if you had any advice for planting a garden around here.”

Mei looks up. “Oh? I’m hardly a botanist.”

Angela shrugs. “They wanted advice on what types of plants they should grow in this climate. You’re the best one to ask; at least climatology is an Earth science. Anyways, don’t work yourself too hard, okay?” With that, she turns and migrates over to her own little station. As she works, she hears Mei occasionally murmur something about plants. She smiles.

Mei took a break right after lunch. She returned a few hours later, clutching a sheet of paper. “Angela!” She calls as she bursts into the lab. “I did some research over lunch! Where is this garden you mentioned?”

“Hm?” Angela looks up, jolted suddenly out of her work. “Oh, it’s on the eastern side near the cliffs.” She sets her pen down and folds up her glasses. “You know what, I’ll show you the way. Let’s see if anyone’s still there.”

The day is sunny; there isn’t a cloud in the sky. As the two round the bend, they hear a burst of laughter, followed by some grumpy growling. Angela waves as they approach. “Well, you’re all still out here huh? Drinking plenty of water, I hope?”

Zenyatta cocks his head. “Omnics do not drink water.” He pauses. “But Torbjörn here has been staying hydrated, I think. I must confess I do not know how much water humans need to drink.”

Torbjörn snorts. “Ah keep your nose in your own business, bot. I’m fine.”

Zenyatta looks at him. “I do not have a nose.”

Torbjörn growls. “It a metaphor.”

“I see.” Zenyatta says this with the tone of someone who does not see at all, but doesn’t really want to argue about it. He turns to Mei. “Mei-Ling Zhou! Do you have any advice for us?”

“Oh! Yes!” Mei presents her paper. “So Gibraltar’s climate is very Mediterranean. That is, it’s hot and dry in the summer, and very wet in the winter. If you want to make an indoor garden and control the light, temperature, moisture, and soil, you have a lot of choices, but if you want to be outdoors, I think it would be best if you planted native plants. We don’t want any invasive species on our hands, after all.” She points at a list of names. “That said, there are a lot of interesting options! There are a lot of orchids that flourish around here. You can also plant snapdragons, saxifrage, gladiolus, thyme, sempervivum, and lavender, for example.”

Bastion peers at the paper, and then turns to Zenyatta and beeps inquisitively. Zenyatta listens, and then turns to Mei. “Bastion does not know what many of these are, but they are very excited. They want to know if you would leave the list, so that they can look at it if they need to look something up.”

Mei beams. “Yes, of course! It’s yours! It’s on paper though, so don’t tear it!” She reaches out and offers the paper to Bastion.

Bastion, in turn, takes it carefully with its hand and then brings it over to Torbjörn. Torbjörn looks at the list, then looks at Bastion, then back at the list. Finally, he sighs and beckons Bastion over to the wall, producing a roll of tape. “We can put it up here.” Bastion whistles delightedly as Torbjörn tapes the paper to the smooth watchpoint wall.

“Well,” Angela stretches, and sighs. “Once you’re ready, tell Athena what you need. She’ll add it to the list for the next shopping trip. I’m sure McCree’ll try his best to find everything for you.”

Mei looks at Angela in surprise. “McCree does the shopping? I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, he does have by far the most experience with covert operations, after all. Criminal and Blackwatch history and all that.” Angela quickly shoots a glance at Genji, suddenly remembering his presence.

Genji laughs. “You do not have to separate those two, Angela. Blackwatch history _is_ criminal history. I was never asked to do the sort of hiding in plain sight that McCree does, for obvious reasons. I was never much involved with the Shimada business anyways, and even if I were they are very different from Deadlock.” He laughs again at the startled expression on Mei’s face. “I forgot that you didn’t know.”

Angela wags a finger at him. “Come now Genji, you can’t expect her to not be surprised.” she turns to Mei. “Those boys have been getting into trouble for as long as I’ve known them.”

“Ah, that’s not fair, Angela.” Genji protests.

Angela raises an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you haven’t been getting into trouble?”

“No, I’m saying that it’s not fair for you to call us boys. I am only 2 years younger than you, and McCree is the same age!”

“It’s metaphorical.”

“Like my nose?” Zenyatta chimes in.

Torbjörn shakes his head as everyone bursts into laughter, though even he is smiling. “Alright alright clear of you two. I’ll go mad if I have to keep listening to your jabbering.”

 

* * *

 

Now that all anticipated agents were gathered and settled at the watchpoint, Overwatch could finally get down to business. Winston called a meeting one morning, so that they may work out the organization’s future together. As the seats of the conference room were filled, a neat hologram opened up upon the table in front of each.

“So.” Winston begins, “We are in a very dangerous situation right now. There are only a handful of us here. Now, the original strike team,” He nods at Reinhardt and Torbjörn, “was comprised of just 6. It is true that a great deal of manpower is not required to do great things, but our numbers limit us severely. A small, bare-bones strike team would take a full half of our agents. The rest would be left to hold down the base alone while the mission is conducted. If we split ourselves, and if either group falls, then Overwatch is doomed.” Solemn contemplation lies thick in the air. “Especially when we have only one medical professional.”

“That has never stopped me before.” Angela’s voice cuts in. “If there are people in need, I will fight.”

Winston peers over the top of his glasses at her and frowns. “If you fight, we risk losing the one person that would keep us afloat in the face of failure.”

Angela leans forward, eyes flashing. “If I don’t, we risk losing good soldiers and innocent lives.”

Torbjörn interrupts before Winston can reply. “I think Winston was getting to a point here.”

Winston looks at him, then sits back and sighs. “I… Yes, thank you. My point is we need to grow if we have any hope of doing much good. We need trustworthy people. The stronger we are when the world notices us, the better the chance of Overwatch surviving.”

Lena looks around the table, then shrugs. “I can think of a few, but they’re celebrities. People would miss them if they suddenly disappeared.”

Torbjörn nods, stroking his beard. “Aye. If we’ve heard of them, the rest of the world has too.” He squints at McCree. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any friends flying under the radar.”

McCree snorts. “Friends? Nah. I know a few that aren’t as mean as the others, but I wouldn’t call ‘em good people. Everyone I know is in it for the money.”

Genji taps a finger on his chin, and shrugs. “I did suggest it to Hanzo, kind of. I was looking for him when the recall happened anyways.”

Angela frowns. “Hanzo? As in your brother? The one that almost cut you in half and then left you to bleed out?”

“Yes! That’s the one.” Genji replies cheerfully. “It is too bad though. He did not seem too enthusiastic about the idea.”

“What a shame.” Torbjörn remarks dryly.

Angela stares down at the blank hologram in front of her, sinking into a deep thought. Aside from former Overwatch agents, she was not close friends with anyone that had training in combat. A day at a museum and a woman with gold in her hair flashes to the front of her mind. Angela frowns, and pushes the thought away. Fareeha Amari was the captain of one of Helix’s prized Raptora squadrons. There would be no way for her to ever find time to join Overwatch. _Even if she could_ , _She hates me_. Angela pushes the topic away, more insistently this time. Still, a cold unhappiness curls up in her gut.

Winston looks around, then sighs. “As I thought. I suppose we shall have to do our best, then. Small missions should be safe. Out here, organizations like Talon are just as interested in keeping their heads down as we are. That means they’ll be working in small groups. It makes them easier to deal with, if we can find them. Speaking of which, I have been tracking reports of criminal activity around the globe for some time now. Recently, suspicions have arisen that Talon is after something in the Ilios ruins, a world heritage site. Security has been upped, of course, but Talon has gotten past tighter security before.” As he speaks, Winston taps the hologram in front of him, broadcasting news articles to the rest of the team. “We need a small team to sneak in, stake the area out, and keep Talon out if they show their faces.”

“Sounds like a Blackwatch sort of thing.” McCree makes eye contact with Genji. Genji shrugs.

“Aye, the Blackwatch boys are obvious choices. But there’s only two of ya. The ruins are big and open. You’ll need help keeping an eye on everything.” Torbjörn says. “Me an’ some turrets… now that might just do.”

Winston frowns. “You’re a little conspicuous.”

Genji interrupts before Torbjörn can shoot back. “Perhaps he could stay at a hotel nearby. Ilios is a tourist island, after all. Just a retired old man here to enjoy a nice vacation by himself. He can keep an eye on the town; meanwhile we can set up his turrets at the ruins.”

“I’m coming too.” Angela seizes the brief break in the conversation.

Winston’s frown deepens. “I’ve already told you—”

“There are a lot of people there that could get caught in the crossfire, Winston. There needs to be someone on hand to treat that. You can tell me not to go, but you won’t be able to stop me.” Angela’s eyes burn with an unbridled passion.

Winston considers her, then decides he isn’t going to argue. “Fine. The four of you, get ready. Go over the map, and form your plan. Get some training done together, and make sure you’re in top shape. Hurry though—we don’t know when Talon will make a move. You need to get there as soon as possible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastion is my favorite character to write because then I don't have to do dialogue! Yay!  
> "Xièxiè" (谢谢) means thank you in Chinese.


	6. Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick mission, and some... brotherly love (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pharah's coming, be patient. She'll be here soon!

Illios was a scenic little island in the Mediterranean sea. It was known for beautiful blue waters and a very pleasing color-coordinated city, powered almost completely by clean energy. The air was fresh, the sun was pleasant, and the history and culture of the place ran deep. It was a very popular place for tourists, and so it was simply a matter of slipping into the crowd to stay out of suspicion. Genji was the only one that didn’t have either a good disguise or a reliable excuse to be there.

Still, this was not as much of a problem as one might expect. Genji found it fairly easy to scale a few walls and hop in through a window while no one was looking. Torbjörn welcomes him by telling him to close the window. Angela smiles, as McCree frowns and fiddles with his hair. He had combed and curled it, and was rather unused to the sensation.

Torbjörn was there as… himself. There were few people of his… stature in the world. However, McCree, who was a wanted criminal, and Angela, who was a world-famous surgeon, had been able to put together disguises. They were Mr. and Mrs. Norman, old friends of Torbjörn’s who were altogether too social and liked to pay visits quite frequently. The surname may have been a bit on the nose, but no one thus far had questioned it. Evidently, people that worked in customer service had seen and heard far too much to question anything.

Genji crouches with his back against the wall, right underneath the window. No one on the ground outside would be able to see him. He is silent, listening intently for any signs of disturbance. Nothing. Genji nods, and flicks a small chip onto his palm. A map flickers faintly to life in the air. Angela draws the curtains.

“I did my best to get a basic map.” Genji’s voice is low; even the walls could have ears. The other three had conducted a search of their rooms while he was out, and had found nothing, but there was no such thing as too careful.

“The ruins are very open. The few mostly intact buildings are small, and low to the ground with narrow doors. There are tarps and piles of equipment to hide with, I don’t like them. If we hide in them, we could easily get trapped.” He points out a handful of small nodes, scattered on opposite sides of the grounds. “Closer to the cliffs and near the buildings, there are very large, dense bushes to provide some cover. There are also some walls between them. They’re your best bet for ground cover. I still wouldn’t recommend it. Many of the buildings have second floors where the roof has long gone, but portions of walls still remain. Some even have the aforementioned bushes. There isn’t as much equipment up there, of course, but still enough to work in a pinch. The stairs to all of them are too decayed to use. You should be able to get up fairly easily with the scaffolding though.” He points at the center of the map. “There’s a big building in the middle. The ceiling and walls are gone, but there are a lot of tarps and crates lying around in the far western side. Two halls also branch off of it. Keep it in mind for emergencies. Here, in the back,” Genji’s finger shifts to the back of the map. “This building is built into the cliffs. There’s no way to approach it from behind or from either side—unless you’re a mountain goat.”

McCree raises his eyebrows. “Or a cyborg ninja.”

“Yes, or that. Hopefully, that forces Talon to approach it from the front. In other words, they have to get across the entire ruins excavation site to reach this building. That is important—this is where the artifacts are being kept.”

Torbjörn strokes his beard and squints. “These bushes… how tough are they?”

“Not very. The leaves are thick, but the branches are easy enough to cut through. Do you think your turrets will be able to sight a target if they are hidden in them?”

“Of course they will. My work is impeccable.” Torbjörn sniffs, and then continues. “Suppose I’ll have to paint em though.”

Genji nods. “Very well. I can safely observe the grounds from the western cliffs and up on the rooftops if I need to come closer. McCree, Angela… I suppose you two don’t want to climb very much. I think it would be best if you kept watch closer to the ground on the eastern side.”

“I hear ya.” McCree scrutinizes the map, eyes flicking between buildings. “Didn’t happen to get a good look at the security, did you?”

“I did, but I can’t display more than a map with this.” Genji tilts his chin at the chip. “The guards are concentrated most heavily around the storage building, of course. There are an additional six patrolling the borders, and six more weaving through the buildings closer to the center. The time it takes for one to make a round trip is very short. I wasn’t able to discern the exact patterns of all of them.”

McCree lets out a low whistle. “Around 20 guards for such a small site? Well, I’m glad they’re taking this seriously at least.” He throws a glance at Torbjörn. “You got first shift?”

“Aye. I’ve gotta make sure the turrets are set up right.” Torbjörn turns his head slightly to look at his bags. “And throw some green paint on ‘em too.”

Genji inclines his head, and puts the chip on the nightstand. “Yes, I would be grateful for instructions on how to set the turrets up.”

Angela rises, and yawns. “Well, that’s it then. We better go get some rest while we can.” She raises her voice as she opens the door into the hall. “Goodnight, Torb!”

“Yeah yeah. You’re welcome to go out on a hike tomorrow instead of jabbering in my ear all night, you know.”

McCree chuckles as he closes the door behind them. “We’ll see you in the morning!” Torbjörn groans as a passing bellboy throws them a glance and snickers.

Torbjörn growls as the door finally clicks shut. “The longer I have to keep this up, the closer I get to tearing my hair out.”

If he could smile, Genji would. In fact he would laugh, if he hadn’t silenced himself completely. Before, the TV had been on under the pretense of Torbjörn entertaining his guests (or trying to make them shut up). No, there were no longer other voices to cover up his own. Torbjörn does notice his shoulders shake, as if in a silent laugh though.

 

* * *

 

A waning moon hangs low in the sky. Genji checks the horizon again. Not much time until daylight. He had to be finished and hidden by then. The branches and leaves crackle and whisper as he trims nests into the bushes. He reaches into the pack on his back, drops in a small box, and presses a button on its side. As soon as the turret has unfolded itself, Genji checks the signal, then covers it in leaves and branches. Torbjörn’s voice crackles through the comm, telling him it looks good.

A light flashes at the corner of his vision. Genji ducks, pressing himself low to the ground behind a stack of crates. The guard doesn’t notice him. The horizon is warming. Genji curses silently, and then flips himself onto a nearby roof. His pack is light, but not light enough.

“It’s getting to be too bright out, Genji. Go find a safe place to lay low for the day. Don’t worry about the turrets. We’ll just finish them tomorrow. I’ll tell the others about the blind spot.” Torbjörn’s voice is gruff, and tired. Two nights in a row, he and Genji had been setting up sentries all over the excavation site. He had stayed up longer than he was supposed to both times.

Genji cups one hand around his visor, a short message scrolling across his field of view before sending.

“Ah bugger off. You’re almost as bad as A—Mrs. Norman. I’ll go to sleep once you’re secure.”

Genji rolls his eyes (a useless gesture, considering the fact that no one could see them) and nimbly bounds up the sheer cliffs on the western side of the site. There was a nook just deep enough to prevent sunlight from glinting off of his plating a good ways above the highest roof in the ruins. Genji covers as much of himself with the bag as possible just in case. He cups a hand over his visor again.

“Hrm. Fine. I’ll go wake up the others, and go to sleep. Happy?”

“It was a rhetorical question.” With that, the line fades to silence. Genji’s shoulders shake in his silent laugh again. He is picking up many things from his master, it seems.

 

* * *

 

Angela shivers, and pulls her knees closer to her chest. The moon is faint sliver in the sky. The night is not cold; the sea makes sure of that. If there is a chill in the air, it is certainly nothing compared to what Angela was used to. No, she wasn’t shivering from the cold. She was shivering from the dread seeping slowly down her spine. McCree shifts, and lays a hand lightly on Peacekeeper. He feels it too.

It is dark, tonight. The moon is small, and the sky is cloudy. Not inky, oppressive darkness; the lights of the rest of the island made sure of that, but this was somehow worse. When the lights and shadows blended together, was the time that it was hardest to see. A light mist had risen up from the sea that evening, and now shrouded the excavation site in a muffling, vague haziness. Flashlight beams did little to improve visibility. If there was any time to sneak in, it was now.

Genji had been forced to come lower due to the mist blocking his view; he was probably hanging around the temple. It had been decided that Angela was to stay with McCree, seeing as he was much less capable of running up a wall and leaving her stranded. Genji seemed mildly offended at the idea that the others didn’t trust him enough (“I did it _one_ time Angela, on accident! I wouldn’t do it again!), but hadn’t really protested.

A flashlight cuts through the gloom, pausing as the guard using it stops to check in. Angela presses herself closer to the wall as McCree tilts his head, hoping to pick up any sort of sound.

“All clear sector 4.” The man’s voice is clear. There is a long pause. McCree frowns. Usually everyone would have reported in and moved on by now. “Do you copy?” The flashlight swings in an arc, as if checking the surroundings nervously.

McCree catches Angela’s eye and frowns. He ducks, covering his mouth with a hand, whispering into the comm. “We might have some trouble here, Genji. The guard can’t seem to get in touch with anyone.”

    Genji’s voice sounds in both of their ears. “Yes, I have noticed it too. This isn’t an isolated technical issue. If someone has sabotaged the comm lines of the guards, then they would have known that it would be noticed fairly quickly.”

“Which means they’re moving.” Angela presses a finger to her ear. “Torbjörn, get up. We might have trouble.”

“I’m awake. Can’t really get on site right now, but I’ll keep an eye out and make sure no one causes any trouble in town.”

“You got cameras on those turrets of yours?” McCree chimes in eyes scanning the ground. “Could come in handy.”

“Of course I’ve got cameras. They aren’t seeing anything out of the ordinary right now.”

“ _Kuso!_ The blind spot!”

McCree hops off the edge of the building before Angela can react. The guard starts, but before he can properly turn around, McCree wraps an arm around his neck, pinning him in a chokehold. The guard struggles, but can’t gather enough breath to call out, nor can he break the hold. After a few minutes, he goes limp. Angela drops to the ground, staring in alarm as McCree lowers him to the ground.

“Help me out here, doc. We’ve only got a few minutes before he wakes up.” McCree bends down, hauls the man over his shoulder, and then notices Angela’s expression. “What? He ain’t dead.”

“Was that really necessary?”

“You heard Genji. He’s good, but he’s gonna need backup. We needed this one out of the picture if we wanted to move.” McCree looks around, then steps inside the building that the two had been hiding out on top of. He looks around, and then sets the man down. There is an orange tarp laid over a stack of boxes. It’s tough material, but McCree’s metal hand manages to tear it into strips. Angela frowns, but helps. She tucks the guard, bound and blindfolded, into a corner once they finish. She turns to dart out the door after McCree.

McCree bends down, and plucks the flashlight out of the damp grass. He studies it, switches it off, then hooks it to his belt. Then, he fishes a small earpiece out of a pocket. He holds it to his ear, then shakes his head. He frowns, sharing a knowing glance with Angela. He drops it in the grass, and lopes off, sharp eyes already on the lookout.

The two strike out towards the north, closer to the entrance of the excavation site. Torbjörn growls a warning. “Can’t see any of you anymore. The turrets can’t give you cover. Be careful.”

McCree abruptly stops, presses himself against a wall, and lifts a finger to his lips. Angela follows his gaze. There, in the grass ahead of them, a dark shape lay sprawled on the ground. A body. McCree is still, listening, watching. After several moments, he creeps forward, Peacekeeper drawn and ready to shoot. Angela follows, and kneels beside the body. She hastily peels off a glove and presses two fingers to the person’s throat as McCree keeps lookout. Angela sighs in relief, and pulls her glove back on. She nods at McCree. He nods back.

As Angela rises, a bullet whizzes by her head. It smashes into the wall behind her, powdering the stone. McCree whirls around, raising his hand. Peacekeeper’s sharp retort cracks through the air. Judging by the sound, it found its mark. Angela scrambles to her feet, flicking the safety on her pistol. She curses mentally. She should have done that much sooner. She takes off, as a smattering of gunfire follows her. She ducks around the wall behind her; McCree dives behind another one.

“Genji!” Angela calls.

“I heard the shots. I’m coming as fast as I can.” The smooth, humming voice rolls out of the comm.

“There’s only 4 of ‘em, s’far as I could see.” McCree peeks around his corner, and fires a cheeky shot. “I got one, but I’m a little hard pressed to find opportunities to get another shot in.”

“There’ll be more around here, if what you said to me about Talon’s tactics is right. Get ready—I’m coming in.”

Genji’s lights switch on as he kicks into high power mode. He is a streak of fluorescent green, carving a path straight into the enemy line. McCree swings around the corner, gun blazing. Angela looks around, checking for any nasty surprises, and then switches her pistol for her staff. The a golden glow bursts from the end, forming into a pair of twining, rippling ribbons of light. They attach themselves immediately to McCree. Angela can see some of the tension go out of his shoulders.

McCree wasn’t the one that Angela was worried about. Genji was in the thick of the action, and while he was remarkably good at dodging bullets, he wouldn’t be able to dodge all of them. Another golden glow appears—this time from the Valkyrie Suit itself. Hard light wings push Angela closer to the fight, and the beam disconnects from McCree, switching over to Genji. He somehow finds enough time to cheerfully thank Angela in the middle of the fight. Then, he leaps into the air, pulls out a sword, and slams into one of the Talon agents.

The beam draws attention. A nearby figure turns, and takes aim. Angela doesn’t have enough time to draw her gun. She darts to the side, then brings her hands together, swinging the (less expensive) end of the staff with as much force as she can. She misses the person, but catches the operative’s gun, ripping it cleanly out of their hands. The talon agent looks down at their now empty hands, as if not registering what just happened. Angela swings again, catching them in the head. She winces at the sound, and the now prone body. That had been a stronger swing than intended—this particular person may have just suffered permanent brain trauma.

Genji appears at her shoulder, almost earning a staff the to ribs. He raises his hands. “Right, right. Make more noise when I walk up behind people.” Angela re-connects her beam—it had broken when she swung her staff.

Angela looks up at McCree. He is lifting an edge of his serape, looking thoroughly disgusted. “Are you alright?” She calls.

McCree looks up, then raises a pair of fingers to his hat in acknowledgement. “Yep. The bastards got my serpae though.” He holds up the cloth, showing a new hole in the weave.

“We’ve got bigger problems than that.” Torbjörn’s gruff voice cuts in. “I’m picking up something here on the thermal cameras. The normal sensors aren’t seeing it though.”

“Uhh…” McCree scratches his neck. “That’s not possible, is it? Unless you were—”

“Invisible.” Torbjörn finishes his thought. “It’s moving fast, heading south along the western edge. I’m thinking the crew you just mopped up was a distraction.”

“We have the best chance of catching it around the temple, I think.” Genji scuttles up a building, and faces west. “You will have to direct us, Torbjörn. We cannot see whatever this is.”

“You can fix that, you know. Enough force will deactivate whatever cloaking device this is. At least, it should.”

Genji is off as quickly as he came, his lights turning off once again. McCree and Angela follow on foot—the light of the Valkyrie suit draws too much attention to use it when they don’t know where their enemy is. The grounds are unsettlingly quiet. There isn’t so much as a whisper of a guard’s presence. The temple looms out of the mist, columns reaching up to a nonexistent ceiling. The courtyard is sunk into the ground, with crumbling stairs leading down into it. Across the way, closer to the cliffs, plastic boards have been laid across crumbled walls, forming a bridge across. McCree takes one look, and then loops around to get onto the bridge. He doesn’t make it.

“On your right, McCree. It’s swerved to avoid you—take a few steps to the right.”

McCree simply makes one large bound, and then swings with his metal fist. He hits something quite firmly.

“ _¿Qué chingados?_ ” The woman staggers back, flickering into sight in a rush of purple pixels. She raises a hand, and rubs her jaw. With her other hand, she raises a gun. She stops when she sees the red dot on her chest. The turrets finally had something to do. She shrugs, and chuckles. “What’s this now? I must have missed something in the security systems.”

Genji drops down behind her, and presses a sword against her throat. “What a shame for you.” He cocks his head. “Talon, I presume? Who are you?”

The woman shrugs. “Oh… you know. Depends on who you ask.” She tilts her head and looks at McCree. “But now I’m at an advantage, hmm? I know exactly who all of you are.” She grins. “Well, I’d really love to stay and chat, but…” She waves, waggling fingers with long purple nails. “I’m not going to.” Before any of them can react, she disappears again in another cloud of purple pixels.

McCree whirls around, eyes flicking towards every shadow. “Torbjörn?”

“She’s gone.” Was the only reply. “I’ve never seen a teleporter like that. I’ve never seen a cloaking device that thorough either.”

“Nevermind that, Torbjörn.” Genji looks up at the moon. “There isn’t much nighttime left. As soon as any evidence of what has transpired tonight is discovered, the whole area will be searched. We need to break down your turrets and clear out of here before then.”

“Hmph. Alright. They’re easier to break down than they are to set up. There should be a button near the base. The code’s 1390.”

Even with 3 people, taking down all the turrets was a lengthy task. By the time they were done, the sun was already peeking over the horizon. They were cutting it close. Very, very close. Angela and McCree had to go over the cliff edge in order to get to town without running into anyone. They relied mostly on the idea that Angela’s wings would blend into the golden sheen being cast on the rocks by the rising sun. Torbjörn provided an anchor for Angela to glide to when they were close enough, and the two had made it safely back to the hotel room without much fuss.

“By the way, the two of you might not be able to escape notice if they start looking through the people in town. Torbjörn wasn’t on-site, so it’ll be hard to convict him of guilt. The rest of us though, should probably run while we still can.” Genji’s voice rings in their ears as soon as the door shut.

Angela sighs, but answers anyways. “Yes, I think that would be prudent of us. I think there’s a ferry leaving to the mainland quite soon. I’ll call Lena and let her know to come with a carrier and pick us up.” She cringes a little bit. “Oh… Genji, that means you’ll have to…”

“It is alright, Angela. The worst part is holding on. Next to that, the water is not so bad.”

 

* * *

 

The carrier was a bit old, much like just about everything else that Overwatch was using. Lena was chipper as ever though, and piloted it so expertly that it wasn’t much on an issue. Genji sat on the floor next to a heating vent, patiently waiting for his non-metal parts to dry. McCree had laid himself out on a row of seats, and fell asleep almost immediately. Angela sat across from him, rubbing her eyes and typing out a report.

“Well, you guys look like you had fun!” Lena looks over her shoulder, and laughs. “I thought the watchpoint would be boring without you but it turns out we got some excitement of our own!”

Genji looks up, as does Angela. McCree snores. “Excitement?” Angela inquires, frowning.

“Oh, yeah. I think Zenyatta actually wanted to talk to Genji about it. He should call any minute now.”

Right on queue, the speaker buzzes. Lena accepts the call as Genji hops to his feet and moves quickly over to the mic. “Master?”

“Hello, Genji. Have you been well?”

“Yes, of course. Lena says you wanted to talk about something?”

“Ah, yes.” Zenyatta is interrupted by a clanging in the background. He waits quietly for it to stop. “That was it. It was quiet enough to get in, but now it has taken to being very noisy.”

“It?” Genji tilts his head. “What’s it?”

“Oh, we found it climbing over the medbay balcony’s railings. It was not happy to have company.” Angela looks up, and frowns. The medbay? She had just fixed it up…

“Not happy to have company? What do you mean?” Genji would have raised an eyebrow if he could.

“Well, it—” Zenyatta breaks off, followed by another round of inaudible muttering and clanking. Lena appears to be struggling to contain a wide grin. “He says he is a he, and that I should stop calling him an it. Anyways, as I was saying, he was not happy. He got into the medbay as soon as the door opened, and shot out one of the lights before Sir Wilhelm caught him.”

“Shot?” Angela closes her screen, and wanders over to the mic. “He is a human?”

“Hello, Dr. Ziegler. Yes, he is a human. He says he wants to talk to Genji, in particular.” Zenyatta’s voice is cheerfully unconcerned.

Genji taps a finger on his chin. “Master, when you say ‘shot’... do you mean with a bullet, or..?”

“Oh no, it was an arrow. A very impressively engineered one, might I say.”

Genji stares at the speaker, then throws his head back and laughs. “I see! Well, I will be there as soon as possible!” With that, he hangs up, and wanders back to his place by the vent.

Angela watches him. Why is he so apparently amused by the whole situation? She shakes her head, and then returns to her own seat. The question is pushed to the back of her mind as she resumes writing her report.

 

* * *

 

Winston greets them as they land back at the watchpoint. “You’ve already heard about our… situation, yes?” He adjusts his glasses, and looks over his shoulder. “Well, um, I suppose it’s up to your discretion, Genji. He seems to only be interested in you.”

Genji shrugs. “Lead the way. I am eager to speak to him.”

Winston nods, and moves off, the soles of his feet patting on the floor. He leads the whole group down a hall to the left, and stops after descending some stairs. He nods at the door. “This is place was used for launching and receiving spacecraft. We didn’t really have a good place to put him.”

Genji throws open the door with quite a bit of enthusiasm. “ _Ani_! How have you been? I thought you said you weren’t coming!”

A middle-aged man sits in the middle of the floor, hands tied. His black hair is pulled neatly back into a short tail, tied with a long strip of yellow fabric. His beard is short and neatly trimmed, his eyebrows are low, and his eyes are dark. Angela assumes that this is Hanzo Shimada. Hanzo scowls at each of them in turn.

“I thought on what you said. I still think you are a fool.”

Genji puts his hands on his hips. “Oh? Then why did you come here? Surely, it was not to try to kill me again? Because if so, you have done a very messy job.”

“He did a messy job the first time too.” Angela folds her arms across her chest, and glares at the older Shimada brother.

He turns to her, and glares back. “Do not presume—”

“I don’t presume.” Angela cuts in before he can finish. “I saw exactly how messy it was. You can’t deny what you did.”

Henzo narrows his eyes, but before he can retort, Genji breaks in. “You still haven’t answered my question, Hanzo. Why did you come here?”

“Closure.” Hanzo closes his eyes. “Somehow.”

McCree raises an eyebrow. “Y’know, that sounds a lot like finishing what you started. And what you started was murder.”

“Well, we can’t really let you go, now, you know.” Genji looks down at Hanzo. Hanzo doesn’t meet his gaze. He doesn’t even open his eyes.

“I know.” The words are soft.

“Hanzo.” Genji’s shoulders slump. He sits down, opposite his brother. “You may not believe me, but I still think there is hope for you.” He watches Hanzo. Hanzo does not reply. “I want you to find it, someday.” With that, Genji rises, and steps away. Angela glimpses Hanzo’s proud head droop as the door shuts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> "Kuso!" (くそ) means "Shit!"  
> "¿Qué chingados?" means "What the fuck?"  
> "Ani" (兄) means "Older brother (your own, not someone else's)"


	7. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha's here! Also, Angela is a trainwreck.

Events at Ilios had not gone unnoticed, of course. The entire place went into a lockdown the moment bodies were found, and teams swept the area for days. Talon was elusive from the very beginning, and no one _quite_ knew just how powerful they were, but the very fact that they had appeared so publicly so soon after Akande Ogundimu’s jailbreak was enough to warrant considerable alarm. Perhaps even more terrifying to the UN however, was the mystery clouding the events of the night.

All communications and the security system was shut down immediately before operatives entered the area. From there, they were able to isolate and incapacitate or kill anyone in their path, and should have gotten to the artifacts virtually uncontested. Footprints also suggest some independent agents moving across the site, though their purpose is not yet clear. Investigators speculate that they were supposed to be distractions, but that is mostly guesswork. The true mystery is why Talon had failed. The guards positioned at the holding building had seen no signs of conflict. In fact, bodies were primarily clustered nearer to the entrance. All (surviving) guards in the area reported that they were knocked out (two by some sort of injection, one by suffocation) before they even saw the intruders. So, the only logical conclusion is that some outside force intervened. Who this force was and what their motives were was a mystery. And governments do not like mysteries.

While an extended international investigation was launched into the incident, criminalizing the counter-force that had stopped Talon in its tracks, the people celebrated. The recent string of security failures, such as the Lumerico breach, the Numbani International Airport attack, the Watchpoint: Grand Mesa breach, and the Doomfist jailbreak had dragged public faith in the ability of their leaders to keep them safe through the mud. Now, here was another failure in Ilios, but _something_ had enough strength and foresight to stand in the way. The only item taken from the Ilios ruins was an ordinary flashlight —the victor of the night’s struggle had not taken advantage of the mess for self-benefit.

Winston watches the headlines flash by, article after article on the latest pieces of juicy gossip and international news. “So.” He raises his eyes, and looks around the table at each agent in turn. “If you haven’t heard the news, you have now. Given the situation, this was the most stealthy we could be, but now we must decide how to move forward. We can lie low, like we’ve been doing, and try to dodge investigations. Or, we could gamble on it. Public opinion of us is very high right now—it’s as good a chance as any.”

McCree raises an eyebrow. “Public opinion ain’t worth much in court. Nor does it hold as much weight as it should in politics. The big companies pay for the campaigns, after all.”

Athena blinks to life on the screen. “Most believe it is too risky to publicly support a group that they know almost nothing about.”

McCree gestures, as if to say “ _I told you so”_.

“So we either limit ourselves, or…” Lena begins, brow furrowing. “Or, we possibly get the funding and freedom we need, but risk being disbanded permanently.”

“If I may, Winston.” Genji raises a finger, drawing attention. “The UN will not be the only one looking into this. “Vigilantes, especially popular ones, are nuisances for those like the Shimada. Additionally, the Talon agent that escaped saw 3 of us. The criminal world will be hunting us as well. Their solution to the problem is going to be more violent than the UN’s if they find us.”

“So, The question is whether or not we think we can keep hiding.” Winston rubs his forehead, and groans.

“I do not think we can keep hiding forever. Not without hurting people.” Angela’s voice is quiet, thoughtful. “If you think this is the best chance Overwatch has of getting legalized, then we should take it. The UN won’t be happy that we conducted any sort of operation at all, but they’ll be even less happy if we hold off on revealing ourselves. And, it may be hard, but I think people will listen.” Her gaze slips downwards. “I’ll testify, too.”

“Angela.” Reinhardt’s eyes soften, and he reaches over the table. “Are you sure?”

Angela looks up to meet his gaze. “I will never hesitate to do what is right.”

“We don’t doubt it, doctor.” Mei drums her fingers on the table. “But this is… a lot to think about.” The others mutter and nod their agreement. Instinctively, their gazes fix upon Winston. He was the one that called them all together and organized the whole thing. He was the closest thing they had to a strike commander.

Winston looks around. He hesitates, but his voice is clear. “I think Angela may be right. Talon already knows that I’m here. They will most likely infer that the rest of you have returned here as well. To come forward is our only choice.”

 

* * *

 

True to her word, Angela traveled to testify before a UN council on Overwatch. It had taken them a few days to assemble; remarkably fast for politicians. Now, Angela stood at the stand, facing down a group of stony-faced, frowning people. She squints. It felt like the brightest lights were trained on the stand. Perhaps they were. It reflected off of her glasses into an almost blinding glare. Angela takes them off. She’d put them back on if she needed them.

One man clears his throat, and begins. “Dr. Angela Ziegler.” He peers down his nose at her. “You are here to testify on behalf of the group that calls itself Overwatch.”

“Yes.”

“Did Overwatch conduct an operation in Illios last week?”

“Yes. We had the stolen flashlight to prove it as well. I recall I’ve already returned it?”

“Has Overwatch conducted any other operations since your… ‘recall’?”

“No.” Angela can tell by the shifting of bodies that they don’t quite believe her.

“Do you know that the Petras Act forbids any Overwatch activity?”

“Yes, sir. That is why we have decided to be upfront and honest about it.”

“But not about the Ilios operation?”

“No, as that as a highly sensitive situation. We are sorry.” Angela didn’t look sorry at all.

“Being honest about being a criminal makes you no less of a criminal.” The man narrows his eyes. “You have broken international law.”

Angela lifts her chin, and stares him down. “Is that not why we are here today? We ask that you to consider repealing or modifying the Petras Act. There needs to be more good done in the world. Surely, you must recognize that.”

A thin, mousy woman pipes up. “Good is subjective, doctor. Overwatch claimed to do good even as Blackwatch—”

“ _— Blackwatch _ is not a part of this.”

“You will allow the lady to finish speaking!” The first man snaps. Angela, however, continues.

“I will protect the people no matter what. We all will. Legal or not, if something needs to be done, it will be done.” Angela’s eyes are flinty, and hard. “I believe in kindness, and peace. And what kind of person are you, if you don’t?” The following burst of chatter almost makes Angela regret her boldness. Almost.

“Dr. Ziegler, are you threatening to actively refuse to accept the law?”

“I am threatening nothing.” Angela folds her arms across her chest. “The people that make up Overwatch now are all good people. I know this to be true. I know that they are not the kind who will sit idly by just because someone told them to. Overwatch once saved the world. It was once great. Perhaps it decayed over the years, but this is not the same Overwatch that you once investigated.” Her voice softens, just a little bit. “You listened to me once before. Listen to me again.”

The committee puts its heads together and mutters again. When they break, the man nods at Angela. “That will be all, Dr. Ziegler.” Angela stares at them, trying to discern anything from their expressions. At last, she unfolds her arms, sighs, and exits. A dozen pairs of eyes follows her out the door.

 

* * *

 

 _“Is Overwatch Back?!”_ The massive, bold headline glares out at Fareeha from the darkness. Underneath it is a picture of Dr Angela Ziegler, who had spent the last few days testifying to and arguing fiercely with the UN committee assigned to the case. Fareeha’s tired eyes wander down the screen. Overwatch. She desperately wanted to believe in it. She closes her eyes. She may be Helix’s security chief, but she didn’t run the company. Far from it, in fact. Helix was undoubtedly not pleased about an organization that could quickly become powerful in the security business, and Fareeha hated that. She rolls over until one arm is hanging off of her bed. She agreed with the doctor on one thing, at least. The world needed Overwatch.

There were many more days of debate before something was finally settled upon. From there, of course, the solution had to be passed through layer after layer of voting and examination. All in all, the whole deal took a few weeks to settle. It was practically record-breaking time. Fareeha tracked it all. In the end, the decision was as that Overwatch activity would be allowed to continue, and it would be funded. It had to maintain transparency by reporting its activities regularly. A variety of agents would be assigned to it to make sure these reports were true. These people would come from varied backgrounds, to limit any possible corruption. Once a year, Overwatch would be inspected.

Fareeha stood stiffly just inside the doorway. She had been called to the office. She didn’t know why.

“Fareeha.” Her boss sat at a large wooden desk, fingers laced together, staring at her intently. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news regarding Overwatch?” Fareeha nods. “Well, the larger companies in the world have been asked to nominate some agents to be considered for Overwatch.” Fareeha’s heart stuck in her throat. She could barely breathe. “You are highly skilled, and have had a long and decorated service. You hold justice close to your heart.” Fareeha nods, again. “You are Helix’s clear choice. However, I worry that your mother may have imparted some bias upon you.”

Fareeha takes a moment to speak. Her tongue feels thick, and slow. “I loved her, and I loved Overwatch. It was meant to protect, and serve. To be just.” She clenches her fists. “It would be a betrayal of that memory if it was allowed to become corrupted. Please, never doubt me.”

Her boss studies her for a long moment, then sighs. “You should thank your squadron, captain. They pushed very hard for you to be given a chance. You’ll be off soon—I’ll get in touch with the details as soon as possible.”

Fareeha salutes. Her voice is a hoarse whisper. “Thank you.”

 

Angela stops as she rounds the corner, eyes widening. Fareeha meets her gaze unflinchingly. In her proud stance, fierce eyes, and the wedjat suddenly call to mind Ana. Then, Angela remembers the museum. She hesitates, and then steps forward.

Fareeha watches her draw closer. “Were you not told that I would be joining you?”

Angela averts her gaze as the tips of her ears turn pink. “I’m guessing I was. It must have gotten buried under… everything.” She gestures vaguely into thin air. “Well, now I know.” She looks up at the signs. “So our gate is…”

“To the right.” Fareeha finishes her thought. She wants to say more, but looks around and thinks better of it. The airport is too crowded.

Angela blinks, and squints at one of the signs. “Oh! I didn’t see that there. We’d better be off then. They’ll start boarding soon.” Fareeha nods, picks up her suitcase, and begins to walk.

The walk is silent. Angela casts sideways glances at Fareeha every now and then, trying to get a better judge of her feelings. She stops when Fareeha catches her at it. Occasionally, Angela considers attempting small talk. She never does. A cloud of awkward gloom hangs between the two, and it lingers still after they board. Soon after, an exhausted Angela falls asleep, leaning against the window. For the rest of the flight, Fareeha is left alone with her thoughts.

Angela jolts awake when the plane touches down. She looks over at Fareeha. Fareeha is staring out somewhere into the middle distance, seemingly deep in thought. “Did you know that jet trails can be used to predict the weather?” She says, without turning around. The seatbelt light turns off as a calm voice sounds over the intercom.

Angela tilts her head. “How so?”

Fareeha stands, still not looking at Angela. “Trails that are thin and disappear quickly indicate low humidity. Bigger, long-lasting ones indicate the opposite.” She reaches up, and hauls down the luggage.

Angela jumps to her feet, bumping her head. “Ah, sorry I should have helped you with that. I’ll carry my own things at least.” She rubs the back of her head, flushing slightly.

Fareeha raises an eyebrow, and shrugs. “I don’t mind.”

“Still.” Angela reaches out, and takes her own luggage from Fareeha’s hands. The brief conversation fizzles out at they disembark.

 

* * *

 

McCree is waiting for them outside the airport with the van. It was a somewhat dirty, white vehicle—the type that looked like it offered dubious candy. There had been an Overwatch logo on either side, but after the recall both had been hastily painted over. Some of the paint was scratched off—silver and orange streaks showed through. It hovered placidly, allowing McCree to lean casually against the driver’s door. He spits out his cigar and crushes it under his heel as he spots Angela and Fareeha approach.

Fareeha’s demeanour changes completely the moment she sees him. “Jesse!” She beams, and socks him playfully in the shoulder as soon as she comes within arm’s reach of him. “Why am I not surprised to learn you’re involved in all of this?”

McCree grins. “Well if it ain’t the little Amari! Been a while, Fareeha. How’re you doing?”

“Well, administration let me come, so I suppose I’m doing pretty good!”

Angela smiles wanly, and loops around to the back of the van, leaving the two to their reunion. Ana had taken McCree under her wing, so it wasn’t surprising that he and Fareeha were fast friends. Angela sighs, and brushes her fingers lightly against the van’s cool metal. It was good that they would have each other to talk to. Angela herself thought she wasn’t quite done with napping just yet. The trunk opens with little complaint. Angela tucks her things away neatly into one corner, and hops into the backseat. She’s asleep almost as soon as her head touches the upholstery.

“Well, we’d better get going.” McCree straightens his hat and opens the driver’s door. “Winston’ll have an aneurysm if we’re late.”

Fareeha looks around, and frowns. “Where did..?”

“Ah, doc’s in the back seat already. Must have snuck in while we were chatting.” McCree gestures vaguely over his shoulder. “I figure we should let her be. She looks like she could use the nap.”

Fareeha peers through the back window. Indeed, Angela was curled up, fast asleep in one of the back seats. She shrugs, and then puts her own things in the trunk, tucked neatly against Angela’s. “She slept on the flight here too.” She comments as she takes shotgun.

McCree snorts as he backs the car up. “Must be a personal record for sleep then. The doctor’s a workaholic if I’ve ever seen one. Would rather chug 5 cups of coffee and keep going than lay down and take a rest.” He throws a glance at Fareeha as he pulls onto the road. “Don’t think I’m joking, by the way. A piece of advice: don’t go wanderin’ into the medbay late at night or early in the morning without an offering of caffeine. She might just kill you.”

The two pass the rest of the drive chatting idly about the last several years. Angela sleeps peacefully in the back as McCree regales Fareeha with tales of his exploits, and she in turn jokingly threatens to arrest him after each one. Neither mentions the more serious aspects of their work. They can discuss that later. Now was the time for old friends to catch up with each other. The late morning sunshine brings forth memories like light brings forth moths.

Angela is still asleep when they arrive at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. McCree stops halfway up the road to shoo away a media drone. Athena did her best to turn back any that found their way into the area, but occasionally a particularly zealous one would find its way through. Eventually though, the car makes it into the cool shade of the garage. McCree looks into the back seat, then scratches his head. “Ah… I don’t want to wake her up… Guess I’ll carry her, but you’ll have to handle the bags and all that.”

“Right.” Fareeha is already out of her seat, and halfway to the trunk. It’s a struggle, but she does manage to somehow get everything into her arms.

McCree gently gathers Angela up, then watches, amused. “You know, you can make more than one trip.”

Fareeha peers over the top of her pile at him. “That’s quitter’s talk.”

McCree shrugs. “It’s your funeral.” He turns to enter the watchpoint.

“If I die from carrying too much luggage, my mother’s ghost will turn me around and march me straight back to life.” Fareeha’s voice wavers just a bit at the mention of her mother. McCree looks back at her. Ana had been a mother to both of them. It was hard to lose someone that extraordinary.

Still, McCree chuckles. “Aye, and she’d kick my ass for letting it happen too.” He turns down a hall and climbs up a short flight of stairs. He jerks his chin towards the end of the next hall, to the right. “She’s at the end, there. The room right next to the elevator. It’s pretty much directly above the medbay.” Fareeha nods, and turns herself half sideways so she can see.

In stark contrast to the fastidiously organized, spotless medbay, Angela’s room is a chaotic mess. The sheets on the bed are rumpled, and a depression in the blankets indicates that it’s been used more for sitting than sleeping. A haphazard stack of books teeters on the nightstand next to a thin, sleek computer covered in sticky notes. Pens and papers are strewn everywhere—several crumpled notes are in the trash, but several more are scattered on the floor as if Angela had thrown them, missed, and simply not bothered to pick them up. There is a pile of clothes in one corner, and a half-full hamper of more clothes in another. It’s not quite clear which is the clean pile, and which is the dirty pile.

McCree lays Angela carefully on the bed, then straightens up. He looks around for a thinner blanket, but finding none he just shrugs and turns towards the door. Fareeha sets her load down, sorts out her own belongings, and puts the rest of them at the foot of the bed. As she leans down, she notices a pen on the floor. She picks it up, straightens out the stack of books on the nightstand, then places the pen neatly on top.

McCree leans against the doorframe. “You done?”

“Hold on a minute.” Fareeha frowns, then gathers up all the crumpled pieces of paper on the ground, placing each into the trash. She also picks up all the pens, lining them up alongside the initial one. When she’s done, she straightens up, and catches McCree’s eye. “It’s a habit.”

“I ain’t judging. Anyways, I suppose you can have your pick of the available rooms. Most of them are on the second floor here. If you don’t see a name on the door, you can assume it’s not claimed.” He pushes himself off the door, and checks the clock on Angela’s nightstand. “Anyways, I’d better go report to Winston. Let him know you’ve arrived and all that. He’ll make sure you get properly set up and settled in.” With that, McCree waves, and wanders off down the hall, whistling. Fareeha rolls her eyes, picks up her things, and quietly shuts the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Angela wakes up to golden grains of late evening light pouring in through the slats of her window. She looks around, casting a wandering shadow through the orange stripes of sunlight on her floor. She frowns. Had someone gone through her stuff? Her eyes drift over to her collage of notes. Those weren’t disturbed, at least.

 _Eugh._ Sleeping in work clothes was not a good idea. It created the fabric, and was uncomfortable to boot. Angela swings her legs over the side of the bed and casts her gaze towards the hamper. She needs a change of clothes. But first, a shower. She can feel the sweat and grime on her skin.

Instinctively she casts her gaze towards the floor. Usually, there was a miniature obstacle course between just about everything in the room. Now though, the floor was clean. There was nothing but short carpet and smooth, cold metal panels. No pens or papers or glasses to step on. It was… nice.

The shower is quick and utilitarian, as per usual. The water was a relief on Angela’s hair—it had become rather crimped during her naps. It was a simple warm rinse, soap, and cooler water shower. Angela tosses her clothes into the dirty laundry pile as she puts new ones on. She tells herself she’ll get around to cleaning things up eventually, when she has less work to do. She never has less work to do.

Angela bumps into McCree on the way to the mess hall. Quite literally in fact—she rounds a corner and walks straight into him. Both are evidently surprised—there is an instant twitch of the fingers towards their respective firearms. Best to keep good habits, one supposes.

McCree regains his composure very quickly. “Howdy, doc. Glad to see you’re up and about.” He tips his hat in greeting.

“Oh! Yes, it’s good to see you doing well too.”

“Ah, well I wasn’t the one that spent most of the past day asleep. You alright?”

“Yes. Of course. I was just a little tired, is all.” To prove her point, Angela rubs at one of her eyes and blinks several times. “Did I miss dinner?”

“Yup. The food should still be warm though.” McCree hooks his thumbs through his belt, and hums. “I’ll catch you later then.”

Angela nods. “Oh, and by the way.” She grabs McCree’s arm as he walks past. “Did you tidy up my room for me?”

“Me? Naw. It was Fareeha.” McCree tips his hat again, this time in farewell, and wanders off, whistling.

Angela stands there, her hand slowly falling. Only one word comes to mind, and it is hopelessly inadequate. “Huh.” It escapes Angela’s lips just barely. Her hand falls back to her side, and the reverie is broken. Angela shakes her head, and turns back towards the mess hall.


	8. Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very short little chapter to introduce the rest of the new Overwatch gang!

“Angela!” Reinhardt burst into the medbay, holding a laughably small hat in his hands. “Angela come quickly!”

Angela looks up, hand already reaching for the medkit. “What is it? Has something happened?”

“Has something—” Reinhardt threw up his hands in exasperation. “The celebrity child! I have seen her on TV!” He looks around, and then bashfully extends one hand, still clutching the hat. Angela can see the signature on it. “It’s… for a friend if anyone asks.”

Angela sighs, and releases her grip on the medkit. “You almost had me worried there, Reinhardt.” She squints at the clock. “Is it really that late in the day already?” She winces and reaches again for the medkit as a crash and a cacophony of gleeful whooping echoes down the hall.

“Ah, you work too hard, Dr. Ziegler! Come on, meet our newest recruit!”

Angela pinches the bridge of her nose. “Ah, perhaps later, Reinhardt. I have to get her files in order anyways.”

Reinhardt shakes his head. “Did you hear a word I just said?” However, he relents, and backs out of the medbay. Angela can hear his booming voice long after he is gone.

“Now then…” She mutters, tapping at the computer, “Let’s see…” The file was thick, as expected. Any military would be thorough in the documentation of their soldiers. It was marked Hana Song, a name which even Angela, who had spent the past several year out in the back end of nowhere, recognized. The girl was young. Too young, in Angela’s opinion. She wasn’t allowed to smile for her ID photo, but something in the light in her eyes and the slightest tension in the lips told Angela she really wanted to.

Hana Song, callsign “D.Va”. Former professional gamer, actress, and worldwide celebrity. Nowadays she was the star of the Mobile Exo-Force of Korea- MEKA, for short. D.Va piloted a top of the line fusion powered mech. She had demonstrated immense skill on the field, and was a decorated war hero. She was only 19. Angela scanned over the health information. She was healthy, though she has a sweet tooth. That was it.  Angela files all the documents neatly away, and then leans back, closing her eyes. She could introduce herself at dinner.

 

* * *

 

Angela pushed open the door, peering around. The mess hall was warmly lit, and the clatter and chorus of a hearty meal was well underway. Hana perched on the edge of her chair, chattering animatedly. Lena leaned halfway across the table, chattering right back. Angela makes a beeline for the nearest open seat, which just so happens to be on Lena’s left.

“You’ll have to ask Winston about that…. bombs… not sure but…” Lena and Hana put their heads together, voices lowering conspiratorially.

“What’s this I’m hearing about bombs?” Angela pulls out a chair, and seats herself, raising her eyebrows.

Lena whips around, and breaks into a massive grin. “Oi, Angela! Finally come out of your cave, have you?”

Angela sniffs, and tries to look offended. “The medbay is not a cave, thank you very much.”

“Yeah yeah, but what about your office?” Without waiting for a reply, Lena whips around. “D.Va! This is Dr. Ziegler! Angela, this is D-er, Hana!” Her voice lowers into a comical whisper. “Sorry luv your name hasn’t quite clicked for me yet.” Lena’s voice rises again. “She’s been telling me about how her mech can explode!”

Angela looks between the two identical devious grins in front of her and shakes her head. “Er, that’s… fascinating. Your mech, it’s… fusion powered, isn’t it?”

“Yep!” Hana’s reply is cheerful and unconcerned. “Never runs out of ammo!”

“Hmm.” Angela picks up a spoon, and pulls her plate closer. “Well, anyways, it’s good to have some new faces around here. I have to admit, I’m surprised that they sent a MEKA pilot, of all things. Aren’t they worried about the omnic?”

“Shhhh.” Hana lifts a finger to her lips. “Don’t remind them; they barely let me come in the first place.” She raises her glass (of what appears to be fruit juice) and says “Here’s to administration loosening up for once.”

A few seats down the table, Fareeha laughs and raises her glass as well. “Cheers to that!”

Hana laughs in return, and makes a little heart gesture down the table. “Anyways, there’s a carrier out in the hangar now; it’s supposed to ship me right back if that thing starts causing trouble again. We hurt it pretty bad the last time though, so hopefully it won’t show up again for a while.”

“Hurt what?” Genji walks through the door, “ears” pricked.

“The ocean-omnic thing that keeps attacking Korea.” Hana shrugs, surprisingly nonchalant. She must have met Genji already.

“It’s unlike you to be late, Genji. Where is Zenyatta?” Angela peers over Genji’s shoulder. The hall beyond is empty.

“He is meditating.” Genji shakes his head, and leans against a wall. “We tried to get Hanzo to come, but he stubbornly refused.”

“Oh, ain’t that a shame.” McCree flicks up the brim of his hat.

“Indeed. At least he has not climbed out the window yet.”

“Climbed out the—There’s nothing but a near 90 degree drop out that window!”

“Yes.” Genji shrugs.

“Are you tellin’ me your brother can also climb like some sort of human gecko? I thought you could only do that because of your enhancements.”

Genji laughs. “Oh, no, I could do that before. We are Shimada heirs, after all. We were both trained from birth to do those sorts of things. How do you think he got in in the first place? He climbed up the cliffs!”

McCree groans. “You’re sayin’ we got _two_ wall climbing dragon summoning men in here?” He throws a glance at Angela. “Good luck, doc.”

“Hm. That’s nothing. The amount of idio _—agents_ in here wearing combat suits with jets strapped to them has tripled.”

“What was that you just said?” Reinhardt shouts down the table. Fareeha, across from him, presses her lips together in a barely concealed snicker.

“I said you are all very respectable agents that are a role-model for the world.”

Hana smirks. “Mine also shoots rockets.”

“Bet mine are bigger.” Fareeha mumbles it just loud enough to be heard. She looks around as the others laugh. “Hm? What? I didn’t say anything.”

 

* * *

 

A brisk wind kicks up with the evening. It combs through Angela’s hair and brings the smell of sea and sand with it. The grass rustles and whispers in its wake. Angela puts her hands in her pockets, and closes her eyes. She tilts her face back, and basks a little in the last rays of the sun.

“Bwoop?” Angela’s eyes open, and she tilts her head. It was Bastion, who lived in the garden just around the corner. They sometimes whistled to the birds, according to Zenyatta, but they were very shy and Angela had never actually heard them do it herself. She closes her eyes again. It was a friendly sound. It was nice.

Angela’s eyes snap open when she hears a voice around the corner as well. She tilts her head one way, then another. No, it wasn’t just the wind on the rocks. Was there someone in Bastion’s garden? She hesitates, and then carefully picks her way closer, trying not to make nay sound. She would have thought it was Zenyatta, but Zenyatta’s voice didn’t sound like that.

Angela peeks around the corner, and her eyes widen in astonishment. Fareeha was leaning against the fence, speaking in a low murmur to Bastion. Ganymede stood on her head, peering down at her and hopping around inquisitively. Fareeha says something, and laughs, quietly. The wind carries her words away. Bastion, in turn, beeps, and reaches down to the grass. They pluck a small flower, and hold it out expectantly. Fareeha laughs again, and takes it, tucking it behind her ear. Ganymede whistles and inspects it, cocking its head this way and that. Bastion beeps again, cheerfully.

Angela suddenly feels as if she is intruding. She backs off, and turns her gaze towards the sea. It is grey, and choppy. She’s still watching the endless waves when the transport descends out of the clouds.

It’s sleek and white, accented with purple. A blue chevron and diamond are emblazoned on the side. Angela frowns. She recognizes that logo. Fareeha appears around the corner to investigate at the same time that Winston emerges from the watchpoint. Angela crosses over to him.

“Vishkar?”

“Yes, they quickly came out in support of Overwatch.” Winston pushes his glasses up his nose. “They were very happy to put forth an agent.”

“They’re hard light contractors.”

“Well, we could use an architect around here.” Winston shrugs. “Their technology will be a great asset.”

“Vishkar’s had allegations of mismanagement recently.” Fareeha had drawn near enough to listen in. Before she can say anything more though, the small transport lands, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

A woman emerges, and approaches Winston. Winston ambles forward to greet her. She is clad in the Vishkar white and purple. Her long, dark hair was swept up into a neat bun. Her expression was closed.

The woman extends a hand, stiffly. “Satya Vaswani, of the Vishkar Corporation.”

Winston shakes her hand, gingerly. His hands are hilariously large compared to most human ones. “Er, Winston, of Overwatch. Welcome to Gibraltar. You are the Vishkar representative, I presume?”

“Yes.” Satya inclines her head.

“Excellent, well, we better get you settled in right away!” Winston turns, and hurries towards the door. Sayta casts a cursory glance over both Angela and Fareeha, and follows him without a word. Angela nods, politely. Satya doesn’t seem to notice. Behind her, the transport is already taking off, kicking up another cloud of dust.

After a moment, Fareeha follows. Angela stares after her, long after the door has closed. Then, she turns her gaze back to the sea. Finally, slowly, she trails back inside. There was the oddest air of melancholy around her.

 

* * *

 

There was yet another arrival the very next day. Angela was sitting at the table, lost in thought, sipping some coffee when she hears cheering out the door. Satya, who was seated in a corner of the room, looks up. Angela looks up too, frowning. Then she stands. That sounded distinctly like Hana’s voice, and that girl had a penchant for getting into trouble.

“Whooo! I thought you were just joking!” Angela found Hana in the commons, practically bouncing off the walls. She whips around as Angela enters. “Angie! Angie look!” She points excitedly at an unfamiliar man. He smiles, warmly, and waves.

“Oh er…” Angela tries to blink the sleep out of her eyes. “Hello.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “Lúcio, in the flesh, and all you have to say is hello?” She turns back to Lúcio, and shakes her head dramatically. “Yeesh.”

Lúcio laughs, and scratches his head. “I could say the same about you! D.Va, right here? I can hardly believe it!”

Hana grins. “I’ll give you my autograph if you’ll give me yours!”

“Ha! Deal!” Lúcio lightly fistbumps Hana, and then looks around. “So this is Watchpoint: Gibraltar, huh?”

A lightbulb goes off in Angela’s head. Lúcio was familiar! Of course he was! He had performed in Numbani! She smacks herself lightly in the head. That took an embarrassingly long time to realize. It didn’t answer many questions though. “So… if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?” Angela shuffles her feet. “Wait, I didn’t phrase that very well. What I meant to say is that we weren’t expecting to really have any more new recruits for a while.”

Lúcio’s smile melts away and his gaze hardens suddenly. “Why am I here? I’m here because of her.”

Angela frowns, and looks over her shoulder. Satya stands in the doorway. She glares at Lúcio. “You are a criminal.”

“If anyone’s a criminal here, it’s you.” Lúcio folds his arms. “I’m here to make sure you don’t try anything fishy.”

Satya looks absolutely disgusted. “As if I would. Vishkar exists to build a better future. I’m not a troublemaker like you.”

Lúcio snorts, and rolls his eyes. Angela looks between the two, and clears her throat. “Well, I suppose you’ll want to talk to Winston? His lab is—”

“—I’ll take him!” Hana darts forward, grabs Lúcio by the elbow, and drags him towards the door. Satya silently steps aside to let them pass, lips pressed into a thin line. She throws a look at Angela as she disappears after them. Angela can’t decide what it meant. It probably wasn’t good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for being slow; the event's really got my attention. I just want that Mercy skin, man ;-;


	9. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rocky start, perhaps, but the seeds of friendship are sown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aka "McCree has bad luck".

“Hey Angela!” Hana bursts into the room soaking wet and waving something in her hand.

Angela squints. “What… what is that?” Did it just move on its own?

“It’s a crab!” Hana holds her hand out proudly, revealing a very disorientated, small crab in her grasp. “Isn’t it cool?”

“Why—where did—put it back!”

“Yeah, I know, I will.” Hana flips the crab over and inspects it more closely. Angela eyes the waving claws warily. “The omnic would be covered in sea life when it first came out of the ocean. It was neat!” She looks up, eyes twinkling. “Hey, anyways, a few of us are down on the beach. Wanna come?”

Angela glances at the clock. “I… suppose I have some time.” Less to go terrorize the wildlife, but more to supervise, she thought privately.

“Great!” Hana’s free hand darts out and practically drags Angela out the door. “You know, normally I’d use the mech, but I guess you can’t fit in it…” Hana sideyes Angela. “Maybe you could ride on top..?”

“Nope. We’re walking.” Hana grumbles something as the gravel crunches under their feet. The crab continues to wave its appendages around, being thoroughly fed up with all this nonsense.

Lena looks up when she hears the clatter of feet on the path. She beams, and waves. As Angela and Hana draw closer, she leans in and whispers. “Just in time! Come on, help us with this.” She turns her head to watch Reinhardt gather up a massive load of sand in his arms.

“Do what?” Hana returns the crab to the rocks she found it on and wipes her hands.

Lena’s grin widens, and she points behind her. “He fell asleep.” McCree is asleep on the beach, hat draped over his eyes. Reinhardt approaches and drops the sand gently next to him, before joining Lúcio in carefully covering him with it.

“Oooohhhhhh!” Hana’s eyes widen. She immediately runs over, and begins to pat handfuls of sand in place.

Angela watches, bemused. Lena throws her a small wave before darting off to join them. Angela looks around, and picks a seat on a larger rock. She’s content to just watch, and see what happens. Hana snickers, and Reinhardt very seriously puts a finger over his mouth. McCree’s entire lower body is already covered. McCree snores. Angela chuckles, along with everyone else.

Lena peers over the rock, and scans the scene. McCree was still asleep, buried up to his neck in a massive pile of sand. Reinhardt and Lúcio were busy trying to find the best rock on the beach. As for Angela? Lena ducks behind the rock. Hana gives her a look that says _“Well?”_

“She’s standing still, but a few feet away from the splash zone at best.” Lena shakes her head. “We can’t get her, not without a bucket or something.”

Hana sighs, and looks around contemplatively. She watches the waves lap between her toes, and reaches down to grab a fistful of sand. She stares at it, then shapes it carefully into a ball. It’s soft, and would splatter upon impact, but… Hana looks up. Lena meets her gaze with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

 _Thwack._ Angela’s hand immediately reaches for her shoulder. Her fingers find something soft, wet, and grainy. She picks at it, and looks. Sand. _Wet_ sand. Angela rubs her fingers together, watching it crumble away, before slowly raising her gaze in the general direction that the projectile must have come from. She sees the briefest flash of brown hair disappearing behind a rock, followed by muffled giggling.

“Haha yeah!” Lena high-fives Hana. “We got her! Did you see the look on her face? That was amazing!”

Hana shrugs, but she can’t help but to snicker as well. “Told you I have good aim.”

A shadow falls over the both of them, bringing with it a sudden chill as the sun’s warmth is blocked. “Nice shot.” Angela smiles down at the two. “Let me try.”

Lúcio straightens up and looks down the beach. “What was that?” He turns his head. “Hey Reinhardt, did you hear that? It sounded like screaming.”

“Nevermind that!” Reinhardt straightens up, holding a smooth gray stone the size of his head. “Look at this! A strong and noble rock!”

Lúcio sniffs, and crosses his arms. “I don’t care what you find, you ain’t never gonna beat Roxanne.” He holds up a small, cream and white banded rock.

“Roxanne is weak and will not survive the winter!” Reinhardt booms. “This boulder, on the other hand…”

Lúcio puts a hand to his chest with a dramatic gasp. “Don’t listen to him, Roxanne! You’re the strongest rock on this beach, no matter what he says!”

Angela rolls up her sleeves and plunges her hands into the water, heaving a wave at Hana. She shrieks and runs off laughing, as Lena disappears in a streak of blue light. “Hey, no fair!” Hana calls out as she runs, shaking a fist at Lena.

“I got it.” Angela produces a fistful of wet sand, skids to a stop, and then hurls it into the air. Lena’s laugh turns into a dismayed gasp as it approaches. She disappears in another streak of blue, and mimes flicking sweat off of her brow.

“That was close! But no one can hit m—” As she speaks, another ball of wet sand hits her in the stomach. She looks down, surprised. “Wh—” Another ball of sand gets her in the leg.

Angela stands in the surf, arms raised triumphantly. She whips around and pokes Hana, who was trying to sneak around behind her, in the neck with her cold, wet fingers. Hana shrieks, and begins splashing at Angela. Angela laughs, and reciprocates. In a moment, Lena is there too, and their laughter rings over the sea for hours.

Angela stands in the late afternoon light, wringing her hair out. “Well, looks like you had fun.” The voice comes from somewhere to her left. Angela looks over, and sees McCree tilt his head back so his hat slides off his face.

“McCree! You’re awake!” She shakes her hands, dislodging grains of sand.

“Mm, yeah. Woke up a few times before, but was too comfortable to move.” McCree shrugs. Or tries to anyways. All he manages to accomplish is shift the sand around a little. “Is it dinner time yet?” He squints at the sun. “I think it’s dinnertime.” He sits up, causing a miniature avalanche.

Angela laughs, and and reaches down to help him to his feet. “Soon. All of us’ll have to clean up quickly. Satya seems like she’d have a stroke if we tracked sand all over the watchpoint.”

Lúcio walks up behind Angela, and snorts. “Oh yeah, definitely.”

McCree pats futilely at his pants. “Hmm… Well, I think I’ve got a clean change of clothes.”

Angela smiles. “You’d better. Laundry day was just yesterday.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and turns to walk back up the path to the watchpoint.

Angela combs her fingers through her hair, and grunts. She’d be finding sand in there for a week. Most of it had rinsed off though, and the fresh change of clothes was nice. She takes one last look in the mirror before leaving. Her hair is still damp from the shower.

Already, sounds can be heard emanating from the mess hall. Angela cracks open the door, and pokes her head in. Hana, who had somehow managed to clean up so nicely that she looked like she hadn’t touched any sand in the last month, was sitting on the floor, gleefully sorting a pile of packages and letters. At Angela’s appearance, she looks up and waves. “One of my fans sent me a whole cake!” She grins.

“Cake?” McCree pokes his head over Angela’s shoulder and looks around the room. “Where?”

Fareeha, out in the hall, laughs at the same moment Angela does. “How come your hearing gets so much better when someone mentions desserts, Jesse?” She claps him on the back as Angela steps into the room, allowing them through the door.

“My hearin’s impeccable.” McCree puffs up his chest haughtily.

“Hardly. Anyone that works with guns as frequently as you do without protection is sure to suffer from some hearing loss.” Satya whisks by behind him, eyeing the sand caked on his skin with disdain.

“Ain’t ever had ear protection, and ain’t ever will.” McCree shrugs as Satya rolls her eyes. “Anyways, the real important thing here is that I heard there was cake.”

Reinhardt chuckles, and points at the counter. “Someone sent Hana cake! It is the best kind, too! Chocolate!”

“Yeah, my fans have good taste.” Hana stacks her envelopes, and packs them all neatly into a box.

“And the cake would taste good.” Lúcio skids in, taking just a moment to throw a dirty look at Satya. Satya opts to ignore his presence. “Y’all havin' a party in here without me?”

“Nah, just waiting for everyone else to get here.” Hana gets up, and sits back down in a chair this time.

“Well, you won’t have long to wait.” Torbjörn pushes open the door further, wearing his perpetual disgruntled scowl. Winston and Mei are close behind. They are engaged in conversation, but pause briefly to greet the other agents. Winston makes a beeline for Satya. He and Mei talk to her as she listens intently, then replies. Their discussion is too quiet for Angela to hear. Torbjörn wanders over too, and ends up procuring a piece of paper and a pencil to draw all over. After a few minutes, Brigitte appears in the doorway and joins the group as well.

Genji appears soon afterwards, followed by Zenyatta; their efforts to convince Hanzo to eat with the rest have been in vain so far, and it seems like tonight is no different.

“Good evening, Dr. Ziegler!” Mei says as she takes a seat next to Angela. “I’m surprised I didn’t see you in the lab today.”

Angela chuckes. “I was wrangled to do some… supervision for much of the day. I hope you didn’t worry.”

“Oh not at all! It is good that you are taking some breaks!”

“Yes indeed. It was refreshing.” Angela peers over at Satya, who had drawn back into her shell and was eating neatly and silently. “Do you have a new project?”

“Oh yes!” Mei takes a bite, produces a crumpled piece of paper from her packet, flattens it on the table, and swallows. Angela leans over to get a better look at it. “I have been working on a better model for the endothermic blaster! And, a more efficient and reliable way of charging and transporting Snowball.” She points to a diagram as she talks.

“I see…” Angela peers at the diagram, hopelessly lost.

Mei continues. “I went to ask Winston for ideas, and then we ran into Torbjörn on the way here. I was rather confused on most of it, but they are both very smart! And Satya too! She’s full of so many good ideas!” Mei’s face is a beacon of warmth and joy. “I’ll have it all done faster than I could have hoped for with their help!”

“That’s wonderful! Are you going off into the wide world after this, then?”

“Oh, yes.” Mei looks down, suddenly abashed. “You’re not that shorthanded anymore, and I have a lot of work to do yet.”

Angela pats her on the shoulder. “Just keep that journal of yours updated, alright? I know more than a few of us like to read it.”

Mei’s ears and cheeks redden. “Yes! I will! I didn’t think it would be that interesting!”

Lena looks up. “Really? Your work is so important! And cool! Why wouldn’t it be interesting?”

“Yeah,” Hana pipes up. “And some of us don’t get to travel that much so reading about the world is nice!”

Mei’s face reddens more, and she half bows. “Th-thank you! I’m glad.” She smiles, shy and soft, and the table fades into companionable silence.

McCree’s eyes fart towards the counter. “Is everyone done?” He looks around hopefully, in a manner that is oddly reminiscent of a puppy.

“Cake!” Reinhardt booms, and stands, reaching out. Winston chuckles.

“Save some for the rest of us, you two. There are 13 active agents in total. With Brigitte, 14.”

“Do not count Genji and I.” Zenyatta floats placidly near the counter.

Winston nods. “12.”

“13, counting Hanzo. We should save some for him!” Genji laughs, throwing his head back. “Even when we were boys, he had the biggest sweet tooth. He would appreciate it, no doubt.”

Angela raises her eyebrows as if to say _“Would he?”_ The other Shimada brother did not seem to appreciate anything, from what she had gathered from their limited interactions. Hanzo mostly stayed cooped up in his room, skulking around outside only to get food and glare at any unfortunate passerby.

“Done!” Reinhardt world around with a pleased expression on his face, a nearly cut cake in his hands. As soon as it touches the table, it’s swarmed. Angela idly wonders if this is what those famous fish feeding frenzies are like.

“I haven’t had cake in so long…” McCree dabs at an imaginary tear at the corner of his eye. Both Hana and Lena give him a pitying look.

They shake their heads at each other. _“Poor soul,”_ they seem to say. _“What a shame, the man has been deprived of cake for so long.”_

“Tell you what; I’ll ask Em if she wants to make some biscuits the next time I see her, yeah?” Lena pats McCree on the back.

McCree looks utterly perplexed. “Biscuits? I’ve had plenty o’ those. Roadside diners seem to like them.” He sighs. “They’re great with gravy.”

Now it’s Lena’s turn to look perplexed and slightly mortified. “You put gravy on your sweets?”

“Biscuits ain’t sweet.” McCree’s brow furrows. “What are you on?”

Lena now looks absolutely aghast. “You’re telling me American biscuits aren’t sweet?”

McCree looks equally horrified. “You’re tellin’ me British ones are?”

Lena pulls out a phone, opens it, and begins typing frantically in the same way that one might type frantically if there had been a fatal emergency. After a while, she looks up. “S’cuse me.” With that, she darts into the hall, putting the phone to her ear.

McCree turns his gaze to the cake. Two slices left. He frowns, and counts all the dirty plates. Everyone had one, and one was for Hanzo. That meant… Reinhardt had cut 14 slices. His fork darts out.

 _Clank._ Angela stares him right in the eye, the prongs of their forks wedged together. McCree stares right back. They say nothing, only look at each other as if each was trying to start a fire by force of will alone on their opponent’s face.

“You buried me in sand, so you owe me.”

“ _I_ didn’t, and even if I did, you said it was comfortable.”

“I reached first.”

“Evidently not.”

“Are you bein’ a good role model?”

“Two small slices of cake on occasion are quite fine.”

McCree studies Angela’s sharp eyes. He raises a hand. “Rock paper scissors.”

Angela raises a hand too. “Deal.”

“Rock.” They say in unison.

“Paper” Fareeha gets up, sipping at her drink.

“Scissors.” Fareeha wanders idly over, pausing behind Angela’s chair.

“He always throws rock the first time.” She says, immediately before the last word is uttered.

“Shoot!” Angela looks at her hand. Paper. She looks at McCree. Rock. She grins.

“I win!” The table erupts into hooting and cheering.

“Fareeha!” McCree withdraws his fork, shaking a fist as Fareeha. “How could you betray me like this?!”

Angela cuts the piece in two, and presents half to Fareeha. “It’s only fair.” Fareeha grins at McCree.

“I would have shared too!”

“No, you absolutely wouldn’t have.” Fareeha laughs, and then rounds the table to sit next to him. “But I will.”

Fareeha looks up, and catches Angela’s eye. Angela smiles, hesitantly, fork between her lips. For the briefest moment, Fareeha smiles back. Then she looks away.

Angela loads her plate and utensils into the dishwasher and slips away. On the way out, she runs into Lena. “Oh, leaving already?” Lena peers through the door. “Heard quite a commotion. You guys having fun without me?”

Angela snorts. “Oh, something like that.” She yawns. “It’s been a long day. I should get to sleep early, for once.”

“Yeah? Good on ya, then.” Lena gives a small wave, then darts through the door. Angela can hear her voice from inside. “Right, so what did I miss?” The statement is immediately followed by a chorus of voices. Angela hears Fareeha’s laughter through the din. Her fingers linger at the door as she departs.

* * *

 

It is good that Angela gets to sleep early, because the entire watchpoint is awake and assembled at the crack of dawn the very next day. They gather in Training Range 1. Its size dwarfs them, even with Reinhardt and Winston in the mix. Ordinarily, there’d be a variety of targets throughout, but they’ve all been cleared away. Even the console to start aim training is gone—all that’s left is sandbags, hay bales, and boxes to simulate terrain.

“Let’s get right to it then.” Winston surveys the gathered agents. “Overwatch works in teams. Every individual is important, even more so in a small group. There is little to fall back on. We must all keep our separate skills sharp, but so too must we learn to work together cohesively.” He coughs, delicately. “So, uh, we need to do some team building, in other words.”

“What, like egg drop? Two truths and a lie? The floor is lava?” Hana leans against a wall, trying to control a smile. “That’s a bit…”

“Awkward?” Lúcio suggests.

“I was gonna say childish, but yeah, that works too.”

Winston is undeterred. “Additionally, the best simulation for real life opponents is real life opponents. Therefore, we shall be having a competition. That is, capture the flag.” Winston grins. “Consider it an icebreaker. You’ll be split into two teams. While one team steps out into the hall to plan, the other hides their flag, and vice versa. Athena has taken the liberty of marking your goals on the range, here.” Winston pauses to gesture at a circle of light on the ground. “Find the flag and successfully carry it to your goal and you win. I am permitting you to use whatever suits or equipment you usually have in combat. Don’t make me regret it.” Winston pauses. “Of course, there shall be no weapons allowed. You’ll have to settle for laser tag guns. Athena will simulate how much damage an approximate shot would do, and let you know when you have ‘died’. For those that may possess healing capabilities, she will factor this in as well.”

“Are you participating in your own game?” Lena leans forward, tapping her toe.

Winston shakes his head. “No, I will be observing. You’re free to join me, if you’re out of the game.” He turns his head to Satya and Brigitte. “By the way, do either of you have combat experience?”

Brigitte shrugs. “Sure do.”

Reinhardt nods. “She is a true hero in her own right!” Brigitte smiles and whacks him playfully on the shoulder.

"You... didn't tell me that." Winston sighs, and produces a notepad, scribbling something down. "Brigitte, could you elaborate on your equipment and specialties in combat later?"

Reinhardt shrugs. "We must have forgot."

Satya hesitates. “I am not officially in any combat role, but I have been trained to defend myself and others, if necessary.” Her gaze slides over to Lúcio.

“I see.” Winston looks thoughtfully between the two women. “Well, in the interest of keeping the numbers even, Brigitte, would you mind sitting this one out?”

She shrugs. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you. In the meantime, how about we draw sticks to see who gets to be the team captains.” Winston nods, and produces a handful of straws. “Take one.” He watches everyone take one. “Now then, who’s got the two short ones?”

“I believe that would be me.” Genji raises a hand.

“And I.” Satya holds up her straw.

“Alright. Pick your teammates. Whomever has the striped one gets to hide their flag first. The plain one gets to pick first.”  With that, Winston steps away, and sits near the door, curious, but leaving the rest to figure things out on their own.

“McCree.” Genji says almost immediately. He looks at McCree, then Satya.

Satya shrugs. “I have no objections to that.” She then turns, and scans the assembled group critically. “Dr. Ziegler. I understand you use a suit in the field, yes? How does it work?”

“Oh, yes. The Valkyrie swift-response suit is made primarily to get its user from place to place very quickly. The targeting system locks onto living organisms by… well, it’s a long explanation but it finds relatively large living things and propels the wearer to them with hard light wings.” Angela’s reply is quick.

Satya nods. “Very good. I want you on my team.”

“Master, please join me for this.” Genji looks at Zenyatta. Zenyatta nods, and drifts closer to his pupil’s side.

“Fareeha Amari.” Satya’s voice is calm, but her eyes are sharp and shrewd.

“Hana.”

“Reinhardt Wilhelm.”

“Lúcio.”

“Lena Oxton.”

“Torbjörn.”

“Mei-Ling Zhou.” Satya says it with an air of finality. “That is everyone.”

Winston draws near again. “Are we settled  then? Go get your equipment. Be back in 20 minutes.” Reinhardt gives him an appreciative look. Brigitte smiles at Winston as well, and follows Reinhardt away.

Fareeha finds herself going in the same direction. Behind her, she hears a quick patter of feet as Hana catches up. “You’re going down!”

“Are we?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow and sticks her hands in her pockets. Ahead, Reinhardt looks over his shoulder and grins.

The hangar is possibly the single largest room in the watchpoint. It’s entire eastern end opens out into the ocean. Stairs lead up onto the walkways that wrap around the perimeter. A single flight leads down into the spare room which was used typically to house the beds and lockers of agents stationed there on patrol. In the center, a small ship hangs from metal tethers. A prototype of the satellite used to initiate the recall, according to Winston.

The space is mostly empty. The watchpoint jet and carrier are parked neatly side by side. Set apart from them a little ways is the sleek MEKA transport and Hana’s own prized mech. Reinhardt’s suit is stored in the far corner, and Fareeha’s Raptora gear is hung up neatly on the opposite side. Next to the other two, her suit looks small.

Hana runs up to her mech, currently sitting cross legged and inert on the ground. She dives headfirst through a hatch on the back. Fareeha blinks. That looked… uncomfortable. A moment later, the inside of the mech lights up green and it hops to its feet with a loud _clank_. “Woohoo! All systems up and running! D.Va, online!” The voice blares through the room. Fareeha winces. Did that thing have speakers?

The Raptora suit goes on easily and quickly. Years of practice have allowed Fareeha to shave her time down to mere minutes. The hooked, beak-like helmet fits snugly over her head, and almost immediately a string of words begin flashing across it as the suit boots up. Fareeha grins at the perfect rows of green text. She disables the weapon systems, and watches them turn yellow.

“Hey, is yours custom made?” Hana’s mech trots over, curiously inspecting Fareeha. “Aren’t standard Helix suits like brown camo or something?”

“Yes. They told me it’s stand out too much. I told them it wasn’t my job to be stealthy anyways.” Fareeha grins, and taps her “beak”. “The standard helmets look like this flat raindrop-shaped thing.”

“Oh yeah, I remember them now.” Behind the mech’s green glass, Hana makes a face. “Gross.”

Fareeha tilts her head back and laughs. “I’m glad you agree!” She looks towards Reinhardt’s corner, where he and Brigitte are still busy suiting him up. “I’ve never seen a MEKA in action before. I’m looking forward to it.”

“You’re in for a real first taste then, because I’m the best.” The mech poses dramatically. “Too bad I can’t show you the self destruct sequence or the rockets though. I mean, they call them ‘missiles’ but they’re not technically missiles.”

“Oh you don’t need to show me your rockets.” A latch on one of the suit’s shoulders pops open. “I’ve got plenty of my own.”

At that moment, Reinhardt, in his full crusader armor, comes charging in. “CRUSADER ONLINE!” Brigitte stands back, arms folded, smiling.

“Don’t get that too beat up now. I just fixed it after the last time.” She calls.

“Don’t worry!” Reinhardt shouts back. The look on Brigitte’s face says she’s unconvinced.

“Are you two going to fit through the doorways?” Fareeha’s voice is amused.

“Did you just call my mech fat?” Hana turns around, and waves one of her guns in the air.

“I assure you I can fit through most of the doors around here!” Reinhardt slams a fist to his chest. “Personal experience! You have my word.”

Fareeha shrugs. “Alright, whatever you say. Let’s get back to the range then.”

They are, predictably, the last ones to arrive. As soon as Fareeha and Reinhardt appear, Satya gives a sharp nod and disappears into the training range. The rest of her team follows suit.

“Here is our flag.” Satya raises her hand, and holds out a strip of bright orange fabric. “The only rules are that it must be easy to remove once found, and it must be within the area designated for the game.”

“So, no gluing it or anything like that?” Mei sighs. “I could have just frozen it.”

“Wait, does that mean we can put it on a person?” Lena chews her lip.

“Easier to defend, but easier to find.” Fareeha’s voice is thoughtful. This was an interesting case.

“Indeed. However, if they cannot get the flag, it doesn’t matter if they see it.” Satya turns her gaze to Lena. “Genji is fast. Are you faster?”

Lena’s chest puffs out. “Oh yeah.”

Satya hands the flag over to her. “Then we are settled. Do be careful.” Her voice takes on a certain tone to it, as if she doesn’t believe Lena is quite capable of being careful.

After a few minutes, Winston opens the door and pokes his head in. “Done? Great, let’s switch.”

All 6 agents inside file out into the hall. Genji leads his team in. Satya waits for the door to shut before she gathers her team closer. “My strategy is simple. Fareeha, due to her vantage point and possible angles of approach will find and capture the flag. The rest will support her and distract the enemy.” Satya looks at Angela. “Prioritize preventing the rest of us from being eliminated, of course, but otherwise stay in the air with her as much as possible.” Angela blinks and widens her eyes. Fareeha does the same. “I will set up sentries near our goal. Retreat there if you need cover, and pretend as if it’s where the flag is hidden.” A chorus of affirmation ripples around the group.

Winston, a little ways away, comes back to the training range door. He opens it and pokes his head inside. After a moment, he looks over his shoulder and nods. “Very good. Athena, start the countdown.”

As the rest of the agents file back into the training range, Athena’s voice comes on over the comms. “30 seconds to get settled.” After around 8 seconds, she comes on again. “20.”

Fareeha crouches behind a bale of hay. She looks up into the thick beams that criss-cross the ceiling. _Flick._ Fareeha can see the warm golden glow out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head ever so slightly as Angela lands next to her, feet tapping lightly on the metal floor.

“So.” Angela keeps her eyes averted. “I guess we’re working together for this.”

“I’m working with everyone for this. I would think you are too.” Fareeha’s tone is harsher than she intended.

“Right, of course I just meant…” Angela sighs.

The silence is thick. “10.” Athena’s voice fills it smoothly.

“I…” Fareeha closes her eyes. “That was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

“5.” Angela is silent.

“4.”

“I’m thinking of using the rafters as cover if I need it. They’re thick enough.” Fareeha’s voice is uncertain—She knows she hasn’t been kind. “So if you ever need me, look there first.”

“2.”

“Right.” Angela nods.

“Go.” Lena is on the move as soon as Athena finishes the word. Across the room, Genji pops over a crate and moves to greet her. As a chorus of _“pew pew”_ arises, the comms begin to fill with callouts.

“McCree is lurking around the sandbags in the far left corner.” Mei’s voice is quiet, and uncertain. She wasn’t really used to work like this.

“Can you distract him?” Fareeha shifts, preparing to initiate her jets. Next to her, Angela peeks around the corner and darts off.

“I can try.” Mei’s voice is uncertain. “Um, let’s see.” Fareeha looks over her hay bale at the same moment a towering wall of ice shoots up from the floor across the room.

“That’ll do it.” In an instant Fareeha is in the air, ducking quickly behind a beam. She looks down, getting a good grip on the situation. Miraculously, she hadn’t been noticed—McCree, the only one with an eye and aim good enough to catch her going up was trapped until he found a way around the wall.

 _Crack_. Or, until it broke… Lúcio hops through the rubble, the slightest shimmer in his wake. McCree stands to the side watching him, mouth forming a small “o”. Fareeha presses herself against the beam. Mei backs off hurriedly, retreating for Satya’s sentry nest. A flash of gold herald’s Angela’s arrival. She launches herself into the air just far enough to clear any obstacles, then turns and dives for Mei. It takes Fareeha a moment to realize that Angela had been using Fareeha as an anchor to get into the sky.

Lena and Genji were still running circles around each other. Hana had been near the middle of the field, but now she had dove off, likely to meet up with Lúcio and McCree. Reinhardt was moving to intercept them—Mei and Angela needed protection. In the back, Torbjörn and Zenyatta stayed mostly stationary. Fareeha narrows her eyes. Hana had been about halfway between them and McCree.

“Tracer, if you can get away from Genji, try to investigate the back right corner. I can’t see a flag from up here but it seems to me like it might be there.”

“Roger that, Pharah!” Fareeha can hear the sound of her giggling through the comms as she starts to duck and weave in flashes of light. Genji lags behind, but stays on her tail. “It’s Pharah, right? Didn’t get your callsign wrong, did I?”

“You’re fine, Tracer. Yes, it’s Pharah. By the way, Torbjörn’s to your right up ahead—watch out.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it. He couldn’t catch me if he tried.” Fareeha looks around just in time to see Lena hop right over Torbjörn’s head. A few seconds later, Genji follows suit. Torbjörn whirls around and shakes his fist before taking off after them. His legs are altogether too short to keep up.

“D.Va is doubling back. Be wary.” Satya’s clear voice cuts through Lena’s giggling.

“Right. Ooh, is that it!?” Fareeha pinpoints Lena’s location. She whirls, and places a quick concussive blast on the beam—by riding the momentum off of it, she is nearly over the location within moments.

“Whoop!” Lena tosses a long strip of bright blue cloth into the air at the same moment Hana comes rocketing around the corner. Lena disappears in twinkle of blue moments before she can be surrounded, and reappears around another corner right behind a very disgruntled Torbjörn. She stops to tap him on the shoulder before dashing off. With her gone, the only enemy left in the area is… Fareeha feels many pairs of eyes fix on her at once. She sees the flag draped over a box behind Hana.

Angela swivels mid-air, wings flaring out and toe touching down to perform a sharp left turn. As Reinhardt and Mei continue forward, she skids off to the side. As soon as she comes to a halt, she turns and ducks around another corner. She can hear the distinctive jingle of spurs—McCree had peeled off to investigate. Angela curses under her breath and scrambles up a pile of sandbags. She whirls and finds the blue figure in the sky, launching herself into the air at the same moment McCree comes around the corner. He catches her with two shots in the back, but the wings are fast—she gets away in time.

“Where’s their flag?” The rushing of air almost tears the words from Angela’s lips. Fareeha drops out of the sky, crouching behind a crate.

“It was right behind Hana, about 20 meters from my current position.” Angela looks down, folds her wings, and drops to a neat landing right next to Fareeha. Fareeha looks up, a little surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“First of all,” Angela activates her Caduceus Staff. “You’re ‘hurt’.” She narrows her eyes, making a few mental calculations. “Secondly, I’ve got an idea. When I say go, get into the sky and distract them.”

“What?” Fareeha reaches out and takes hold of Angela’s hand. “What do you mean, ‘I’ve got an idea’?”

“You’ll see. Just trust me on this.” Angela looks up and to either side. “Right. Ready?”

“I—”

“Go!”

Against her better judgement, Fareeha launches herself into the air. She turns immediately and aims for Hana—the largest target, and also the one most capable of contesting the airspace. Hana rises quite literally to the challenge, boosters firing. The other 3 members of her team all focus on Fareeha as well. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Angela move.

Angela backs up as far as she can, eyes trained on Fareeha. When her back touches the wall behind her, she locks onto Fareeha and activates her wings, propelling herself swiftly into the air. Before she gets too close though, Angela disengages the targeting system, but keeps the wings on—the momentum from her initial leap propels her straight over Hana’s mech.

Fareeha realizes almost immediately what she’s doing. “Go! I’ll cover you!” She begins to rain as much fire upon the enemy as possible. If they turn their backs on her, they’re “dead”. If they don’t, Angela gets more time to snatch their flag. Hana, the most durable of them all, whirls to face Angela. Angela, in the meantime, grabs the flag the moment she touches down. She had turned in mid-air, so now she was facing the other way. She hesitates. Hana was in the way. If she tried to glide again, she’d be propelled right into the mech.

Fareeha boosts herself all the way up to the ceiling. Angela backs away from Hana and takes a running jump, pushing herself off of the mech’s hood to get a little bit of extra height. “Someone get up between the far right corner and our goal! Up high, if possible!” She calls as she nearly slams into Fareeha. Without a word, Fareeha grabs Angela and whirls around, temporarily blocking her from the other team.

“We’re on it!” Reinhardt shouts. Across the room, Fareeha can see Reinhardt hoist Mei into the air. She raises a hand. Angela dives towards her. Lúcio comes running, trying to knock her off her course, Angela doggedly flies on. Mei ducks out of the way just as Angela sweeps by, landing with a tumble, rolling straight into the orange goal.

Immediately, Athena’s voice rolls through the room. “Orange Team wins!” Lena appears, cheering, jumping up and down on top of a pile of boxes. She jumps too hard, and disappears with a surprised look under a small cardboard avalanche.

Fareeha drops to the ground and removes her helmet, enjoying the cooler air on her face—sweat had strands of hair to her forehead. With a light _tap_ , Genji drops down beside her. “ _Otsukaresama deshita._ ” He inclines his head. “Good match.”

“You could just say ‘gg’ like the rest of us, you know.” Hana comes clomping around the corner.

Genji laughs. “I used to say that a lot, when I was younger.”

“Wait, really?” The mech takes a step back, as if in astonishment.

“Oh yes. I was quite the gamer myself, when I was a boy.”

“That’s so cool! Hey, we should play together sometime!”

“I stopped a long time ago. It is very hard to find time when you live like me.” Genji folds his arms and shrugs. “It is very fun though—perhaps I will take you up on your offer.” After a moment, he laughs again. “Though you would probably defeat me quite easily.”

“Aw, it’s the thought that counts. Once a gamer, always a gamer is what I think anyways.” The mech swivels to look at Fareeha. “By the way, what was that? I didn’t know Angela could do that.”

“Did you know she could fly?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“Well…” Hana trails off. “Okay, so I haven’t really done that much research into all of you. But you’ve got a suit that you fly with and you can’t sling yourself around like that.”

Fareeha shrugs. “To be honest, I didn’t know she could do that either.”

“You are lucky that she could. I saw your flag poking out of Lena’s pocket. It was only a matter of time before I grabbed it.” Genji looks over his shoulder, to where Lena is trotting up.

“Yeah, you wish.” Lena laughs, and smacks Fareeha on the shoulder. “Ah, ouch. I forgot that was metal.”

“You forgot it was—” Fareeha stares at Lena. Lena laughs, and shrugs.

Winston’s voice comes on over the intercom. “That was very informative. And hey, no one ‘died’, so you all did a good job of protecting each other! Thank you for putting up with me! We’re done for now. I will go over what I’ve learned at a later date.” After a while, he comes on over the speakers again. “Oh, and, if you could help me clean up, that would be great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Otsukaresama deshita" (お疲れ様でした) means "Thank you for your work/the match."


	10. Clear Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you end up spending time with people, for reasons beyond your control. The yarn is wound. Overwatch draws together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... really difficult to write for some reason. I knew exactly what I wanted, but it just wouldn't come out. Anyways, I'm very sorry about how late this is! Also how many meal scenes can I fit in before someone kills me let's find out

Fareeha tilts her head back, savoring the fresh air and scent of the sea. She still wasn’t quite used to it. It was that peculiar time of day, in the morning and evening, when one couldn’t quite tell if shadows existed or not and everything seemed curiously flat. Fareeha runs her fingers through her hair, ruffling it in the light breeze. Her fingers linger at the gold, running a thumb idly across its surface. They would be getting tarnished—she might need to polish them soon.

The flat rocks crackle under her feet. Down by the coast, they were round and smooth, sculpted by the sea. Up on the cliffs, they were more flaky, hard plates that had been snapped away from the earth and left to crunch morosely under the shoes of passerby and the occasional mech, judging by the nearby trail of crushed stone. It looked almost like a massive bird had stomped through. Fareeha snorts. Where Hana had found the time to go wandering about was a mystery—those tracks certainly weren’t there last evening.

Fareeha doesn’t know where to go, so her feet decide for her. They follow the tracks, looping idly around the watchpoint towards the seaward side. The tracks end at the cliff. Fareeha frowns, and peers over the edge. Nothing but rock and water below. Hana must have flown off at this point. It’s a miracle she didn’t attract the attention of half the watchpoint.

 _Bweep?_ Fareeha turns her head, blinking in surprise. Ah, is that where she was? She looks around. Ah, well she supposed she was on the seaward side.

“Is someone there?” Bastion turns around and beeps. “Ah. Captain Amari?”

Fareeha approaches, peeking over the neat picket fence. In the center of the garden, Zenyatta sits, or rather, floats, legs crossed, hands on either knee. Bastion is tucked into a bush. They chirp and wave when Fareeha reaches the gate. Fareeha waves back.

Zenyatta turns to face her. “Temperatures outside are lower than optimal for humans, are they not?” He tilts his head. “Are you alright?”

Fareeha laughs. “I’m fine. Besides, the sun’ll come out pretty soon.”

“If you’re sure.” Zenyatta shrugs. “Humans would rarely go up the mountains, back in Nepal. Sometimes we would find one close to death on our doorstep.”

“Nepal?” Fareeha steps up next to Zenyatta. “Oh, yeah, the Shambali monastery is in the Himalayas, isn’t it?”

Zenyatta inclines his head. “Indeed.” He pats the ground beside him. “Would you like to join me for some meditation?”

“Oh, I don’t—I mean I’ve never… done that. Before.”

“What of it?” Zenyatta hums, and the orbs around his neck spread into the ring, glowing softly gold. “The choice is yours, of course. It just seems as if you have something on your mind.”

Fareeha hesitates, then sits down next to Zenyatta, crossing her legs. She felt awkward, almost gangly next to the monk. It probably helped to float off the ground and not have to worry about sharp rocks poking you in the bottom of dirt getting on your pants. “I have a lot of things on my mind, actually.”

Zenyatta laughs, a light chuckle that seems to reverberate through his body. “So do we all. Perhaps I should rephrase.” His laughter trails off. “It may be… audacious of me to ask, but are you comfortable with sharing? I could give you some advice.”

Fareeha is silent for a long time. “Not right now.” The words sound weak in the air. Fareeha looks up, and hastily amends her words. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t trust you, I really do, but—”

“It’s alright.” Zenyatta raises his head, facing into the sunrise. “There is no shame in needing time.”

“But I’ve had so much already.” The words come out as a hoarse whisper.

“So? Who is to say what is and is not enough time? Do not feel guilty, for being slow. Recovery is not a competition.” Zenyatta looks over at Fareeha. “And besides, is it not true that being quick in some ways is a great source of shame for some hu—”

Fareeha smacks him on the shoulder. “Zenyatta!” She gasps with mock offense. “How dare you? I’m telling Genji.”

“He would appreciate it.” Bastion beeps inquisitively. Zenyatta turns to look at them. “Oh nevermind, it’s nothing, really.”

Fareeha gasps dramatically again. “And in front of the children!” She points at Bastion, and Ganymede, and Ganymede’s nest on Bastion’s shoulder. Zenyatta laughs, more of a full, rich laugh that comes from the stomach this time. Did omnics have stomachs?

Fareeha sighs and stands as the laughter fades form the air. Out of the corner of her eye, Fareeha spots a metallic shape. She shifts her attention to it. Ah, the medbay balcony. As she watches, a figure emerges onto it leaning out over the ledge. She can see the blonde hair from here. Dr. Ziegler, dressed in her omnipresent lab coat, enjoying a coffee, perhaps, in the fresh air. Fareeha brushes off her pants. Her voice is low and quiet. “Excuse me.”

Zenyatta inclines his head, and says nothing. He goes back to meditating quietly in the center of the garden. This time, golden symbols seem to radiate from the orbs around his neck. Bastion watches them intently, but looks up to wave goodbye to Fareeha as she opens the gate. Fareeha smiles, and waves back. She slowly and carefully makes her way around the corner of the watchpoint, wincing as a few stones dislodged by her footsteps go clattering off. As predicted, the sun was burning away the early morning chill. She had things to do. And, she admits reluctantly to herself, a doctor to avoid.

It seemed that fate had other plans. As Fareeha turns down a hall on her way to the gym, something tackles her from behind. “Oops!” The force of the impact wraps Lena’s arms around Fareeha’s midriff. “Sorry luv, I tend to overshoot.” She squeezes. “Wow, nice abs. You work out a lot?”

Fareeha stiffens. “Of course.”

Lena lets go, and circles around to face Fareeha. “Oh, don’t say it like that.” She scratches her head and laughs. “Makes me feel guilty. Don’t hit gym as often as I should myself.” She straightens up, and claps her hands together. “Right! Mind if I bug ya for a moment?” She jerks a thumb vaguely over her shoulder. “Big guy wants to see you in the office. Er, the control center that is.” She shrugs. “Might as well be his office, really. Wish I could have one that big and nice.”

“I refuse to believe you have an office.” Fareeha says.

Lena snorts. “I don’t—that’s why I said I wish.”

“You really shouldn’t wish you had an office.” Fareeha turns around, running a map of the watchpoint through her head. To be honest, she rarely went near the control center.

“You say that like you have one.” Lena trots alongside, and frowns up at Fareeha. “Do you have one? Because if you do, I’m gonna have to be offended about not hearing about this.”

“Had.” Fareeha pauses at an intersection, and grunts in acknowledgement as Lena points down the right hand side. “The rank of captain comes with the privilege of cooping yourself in a room to do paperwork.” She rolls her eyes. “Maybe that’s why administration occasionally goes mad.”

“To be honest I always thought people used them more for pretending to work but actually watching funny videos and eating junk food instead. I mean everyone says they’re for serious things but I’m pretty sure everyone’s lying.” Lena says. “I mean, think about all the peanut butter jars Winston’s got laying around! There’s even a tire swing!”

Fareeha laughs. “Well, you’re not wrong either.”

Lena looks down at her watch. “Aw bugger. I gotta run!” She salutes with a flick of the fingers and disappears down the hall in the blink of an eye.

Fareeha knocks before opening the door into the control center. Everything is washed in the blue light of numerous screens lining the walls. On the second floor, a dark shape rises up. It hops to the ground floor, landing with a thump. “Uh, sorry about the lights.” Winston shuffles over to a wall and flips a switch, brightening the room considerably. Fareeha notices that Lena was right—there are piles of peanut butter jars all over the place, and in the far corner a massive tire swing hangs from the ceiling.

“You asked to see me?”

“Er, yes, but we have to wait until Angela gets here.” Winston turns around, not catching Fareeha’s look of surprise and mild dismay. “So, uh, until then, might as well sit down and make yourself comfortable.” He produces and screen and begins typing rapidly. “Lena’s fast, but she gets sidetracked.”

“...Right.” Fareeha looks around, and settles for just leaning against a wall. She eyes the contraptions laid out on the center table curiously, but doesn’t pry. Winston, however, follows her gaze and brightens up.

“Oh! Those are my shield generators!” He picks one up and holds it out. “They used to blow up when you activated them, but I figured it out!” Fareeha takes the small object, and turns it over inquisitively. “Drop it on the floor.”

Fareeha looks up, hesitantly. “You said that these… exploded?”

“Oh yeah, it’s kind of nifty really, it’s an interesting bomb design.” He gestures encouragingly. “That one’s fine though. Go on, drop it on the floor.”

Fareeha reluctantly flips her hand over and lets go. The device sticks itself to the floor and a stream of particles shoot out, forming a translucent blue dome. Fareeha pokes it with her finger. “Hard light?”

“Yes!” Winston nods enthusiastically. “To be honest it’s a bit new to me. But Satya’s an expert on this kind of thing. Her help was instrumental.” He reaches through the barrier, and taps the top of the device. It unclamps from the floor, and the barrier disappears. “She mentioned something about a different type of shield generator, I think. I should ask her about that sometime.”

“It generated personal shields, instead of barriers. They’re anchored to a body and form a protective shell around them.” Athena’s voice comes from somewhere in the rafters. “Or so she said.”

“Curious.” Winston says. “I wonder, how does that work exactly?”

“As I understand it, Vishkar has somewhat of a specialty in personal applied barriers. The equipment stolen by Lúcio Correia dos Santos can produce a similar effect, though for a far more limited time.”

“What was that?” Lena pokes her head in through the door. Without waiting for a reply, she ducks back out again. “Come on! My legs are shorter than yours and I’m still faster!”

“I can’t bend time, Lena.” Angela pushes the door open and rests one hand against the doorframe, pausing to catch her breath. “Did we really have to run all the way?”

Lena throws a guilty look at Fareeha. “Oh, well, we were a bit late…”

“Rather, you were.” Winston shakes his head, but smiles nonetheless. “You do have a habit of overestimating how long it takes you to do anything, don’t you? Thank you, Lena. I’m sorry to have asked you to go running through the watchpoint for me.”

“No problem, big guy!” Lena grins, waves, and disappears again, ducking right under Angela’s arm. Angela looks disgruntled. She turns around and shakes a fist at the tail end of Lena’s distinctive blue streak.

“Have you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf? That’ll be you, except it’ll be the girl who cried emergency.”

Lena reappears briefly at the end of the hall. “It was an emergency! For me!”

“Yes, well, remember what happened to the boy!” Angela growls, and then closes the door before Lena can reply. She turns around, brushes a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and then nods politely at both Winston and Fareeha. “Well, I guess you called?” She shoots Fareeha an uncertain glance.

Winston cocks his head. “What did happen to the boy?” His brows knit together in concern. “Did the wolf eat him?”

“Oh, no, not at all! The shepherd boy was unharmed. Many of his sheep were not so lucky.” She raises her eyebrows. “Have you not heard of it? It is very old, but still quite popular.”

Winston shakes his head. “Harold did his best to raise me like any other child, of course, but…”

Angela’s eyes widen. “Ah! I spoke without thinking.”

Winston raises a hand. “No, no, it’s quite fine. I don’t mind talking about the moon, or how I was raised.” He smiles, a wide, toothy grin. “They’re good memories, for the most part.” His face falls a little. “I wasn’t a child anymore when the worst ones happened.”

“O—of course.” Angela raises her hands, as if to gesture, but stops halfway through. “I’m sorry.” She coughs, and averts her eyes. “But, um, you wanted to see me?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” Winston clears his throat, and draws himself up. “I am working on developing team strategies based off of the data I gathered yesterday.Thank you for indulging me in that, by the way. I know it may have been a bit… juvenile. But,” He continues. “One thing is very clear to me. You two have perhaps the most synergy out of anyone right now. Angela, Fareeha gives you great mobility and you make up for lack of cover in the air.”

Angela looks alarmed. “You say that like she’s the only one. Genji, for example, is equally mobile. Or Lena.”

“Those two both like to go running off on their own, and frankly they can both be very rash sometimes. They are used to taking care of themselves, but you might be put in more danger than you need to be.” Angela opens her mouth, then closes it again. She can’t argue with that. Winston waits, and then continues when she continues to have nothing to say. “I want you two to start drilling together. Work out tactics and maneuvers, and run them until you can do them in your sleep. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Fareeha salutes.

Winston looks a little flustered by that, but he nods. “Very well. You are dismissed.”

Fareeha swiftly turns, and strides to the door. As she passes Angela, she pauses. “Landing pad B at 9?” As soon as Angela nods, Fareeha continues on her way, sweeping out the door with hardly a backwards glance.

Angela turns to follow her, but pauses at the door and looks back at Winston. “You know, you’re really shaping up to be a true leader, Winston.” She smiles. “You’re working hard.” She turns to look at Fareeha’s retreating form. “Don’t look so frightened when someone salutes you.” Saying that, Angela laughs, and waves. “Take a break now and then, alright? At least every 4 hours. And stretch often!”

Winston waves back. “I will, if you do the same. Take your own advice sometime, Dr. Ziegler!” He chuckles as Angela closes the door behind her.

Angela rolls up a sleeve and checks her watch as she half walks, half jogs back to the medbay. _8:07_. A little less than an hour. She had time to take a walk. Angela turns just before the stairs, taking a side door out onto the cliffs. She clasps her hands behind the back, closes her eyes, and, for the time being, just enjoys the sun, the sea, and the wind.

Landing Pad B was built a little ways away from the hangar. Vehicle suspension rails led into the hangar, allowing for smooth parking, so to speak. Pad A’s rails led to the control center, and was used for launching and receiving spacecraft. Most importantly, Pad B was easy to reach, open, and relatively secluded. With no mission active, there was no danger of vehicles using it. And, unlike Pad A, it was not surrounded by lots of expensive and delicate equipment. In other words, it was the best place for the kind of training that Raptora pilots needed to do.

Angela raises an arm in greeting as she approaches. Fareeha is already there, standing in the shade. She’s fully suited, with her helmet tucked neatly under one arm. One foot taps as if in impatience, and Angela’s heart sinks. She checks the time. 9 AM, sharp. A nervous tick then? Or just a sign of too much energy? Angela coughs, and then looks up into the brilliant blue sky. “Nice weather. Let’s hope it holds!”

“It will.” Fareeha presses a finger to her lips, thinking. “That’s fortunate too. We have a lot of work to do.” She looks up. “I take it you’ve never done any sort of sustained flight before?”

Angela shakes her head. “No. I mostly use the wings for short dashes. Even the longer glides are hardly ‘flight’, really. I don’t have much maneuverability without a target to latch on to.”

“So, the first order of business should be basic movement, then?” Fareeha puts on her helmet. Angela can now hear her voice in her ear, coming through the comms. “Let’s go.” As soon as Fareeha says this, she takes off. “First thing,” her voice says. “The Raptora suit is equipped with jump jets that can accelerate its pilot very quickly straight up. The jets take time to cool before they can be safely used again, so I can’t do it all the time.”

Angela hears and sees the regular thrusters Fareeha is using to maintain altitude as her wings activate and carry her up into the sky. “Tell me when you do that. It should be okay most of the time, but you might just jump out of my range if I’m not ready for it.”

“Of course. Sorry for rushing. Show me how your wings work, by the way. How fast and how tightly can you turn? Can you control the momentum at all?” In response, Angela activates her staff. Its shimmering tether unspools from the tip, melding smoothly into Fareeha’s body. She watches curiously as Angela drifts away a little, and then tilts her wings, carving a smooth arc in the sky. “So, somewhat of a wide turn radius, and not that fast either.”

“No.” Angela shrugs—Fareeha can see the lift and fall of her shoulders, made subtle by the suit and the bright ground. “The initial propulsion is it. I didn’t have room to incorporate anything more into the wings. Honestly this is much more of a controlled glide than anything.”

“I can see. You’re losing altitude.” Fareeha drops a little lower in turn, and then goes back to hovering.

Angela’s wings flare and angle themselves as they pull her back towards Fareeha. Angela shoots over her head, pulling up somewhere above and behind. Fareeha turns around, grins, and rises to her height. “You know, if we were in a fight, you probably would have just won.”

Angela snorts, “If we were in a fight, I would have lost a long time ago.”

“Maybe so, but we can work with that. “So, for the time being, let’s do longer stretches of flying. I’d like you to stay below and to the side of me at all times, so that I can give you cover. That also seems easiest for you to do. I’ll run some simple drills; try to stay in the same position relative to me.”

 

* * *

 

Lena shades her eyes and tips her head back. “They still going at it?” She switches on her comm. “Oi, tried any rolls yet? Immelmann turns? Yo-yos?” Up above, the figures, one blue and one white and yellow, pull up into a hover. Or, more precisely, the blue one hovers, and the white one tries her best to stay in the same area by spiraling as tightly as possible.

After a moment, Fareeha’s stern voice comes over the comm. “We’re not planes, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that. Planes are a lot—wait you don’t have your rocket launcher on hand do ya? No, I don’t see anything in your hands. Anyways, planes are much cooler.” Lena grins, and then pretends to shrug nonchalantly. “Besides, I figure some of the maneuvers are at least similar.”

“Did you come here for a reason?” Fareeha’s voice sounds resigned. Angela chuckles quietly to herself, but she doesn’t cut the mic in time. Lena laughs and waves. She can just see Angela waving back.

“Ah nah, was just havin a quick jog.” Lena looks down at her watch. “Oh, and lunch is in an hour or so. Quick reminder.” She waves again, and darts off. Up in the sky, Fareeha shakes her head and sighs.

“Well,” Fareeha says, “I suppose it is almost time for lunch. Let’s take a break. I’ll see you later at 3.”

Angela snorts. “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get into the lab for a while, will I?” Fareeha either doesn’t hear, or chooses not to answer. She drops right out of the sky, and is walking off back towards the hangar before Angela can say anything else, leaving behind only the smell of jet fuel and the twinkle of gold in her hair. Angela looks after her, drifting more carefully to the ground. Plummeting like that had to be killer on the ankles.

Angela looks around, and facepalms. Ah, she didn’t bring a change of clothes. She’d have to walk all the way back to her room. With a sigh, she starts walking, shoes scuffing the dirt. Overhead, the sun is glaringly hot. While it had been nice in the morning, by noon it was stifling. Heat mirages shimmer in the middle distance, rippling in the air. Angela shades her eyes with one hand and squints. Ahead, a small side door appears out of the air, brilliant white in the sunlight. The door opens as Angela steps up to it. She smiles, thinly. “Thanks, Athena.”

“Of course, Dr. Ziegler.” Angela looks around. It’s not super familiar. She’s probably passed by this particular corridor a few times, but it looked more like a maintenance or storage corridor than anything. She looks down. Even so, the floors were neat and clean, devoid of the dust that even the busiest parts of the watchpoint accumulated in their corners. She doesn’t think much of it. Maybe Torbjörn or Brigitte had taken over the place.

Lunch is simple, but nice. For Fareeha, who has barely seen anyone since the early morning, it’s refreshing in more ways than one. Her shoulders relax and her face breaks out in a smile as McCree looks up sleepily and waves. Across from him, Lúcio and Zenyatta are engaged in what appears to be a deep conversation. They both break off and wave as well as Fareeha approaches. She slides into the empty seat next to McCree, and takes a long gulp of cool water.

“So, what are those two talking about?” Fareeha tilts her glass, gesturing vaguely across the table.

“Uhhh…” McCree scratches the back of his head. “Somethin’ about music and how it brings people together, I think..?” He shakes his head. “Honestly I zoned out after the first few minutes.”

“Huh. Sounds about right though.” Fareeha cocks her head, but before she has a chance to do anything more, a commotion is heard in the hall. Moments later, Genji pokes his head in, then immediately turns around.

“Come on, brother.” Genji appears again, half dragging a protesting Hanzo with him. Fareeha raises an eyebrow. She had seen Hanzo only once since she got here, and she was admittedly curious about the man. A Shimada heir, after all, was no joke. Not in this business.

“Unhand me, cretin!” Hanzo practically elbows Genji in the face. Genji, who had a face covered by metal, wasn’t too phased.

“Aw, that’s mean, brother.” Genji wags a finger, taking on a scolding tone. “Don’t be rude!”

“How many times have I told you to leave me alone?” Hanzo’s eyes dart momentarily over to the nearest window. Fareeha suddenly remembers that both Shimadas can apparently climb walls.

“Oh yes, staying in your room all day, telling everyone to go away, and sneaking out at night to eat junk food! One would think you are 20 years younger than you are, brother! Who is the childish one now?” Hanzo’s face darkens, but Genji continues. “I want you to meet my friends! Besides, you really owe me one. You know,” Genji leans in. Fareeha swears she sees a devious glimmer in his visor. “For _killing_ me?” Hanzo opens his mouth. Then he closes his mouth, and sits down as far away from everyone else as possible. Genji claps. “Yes! Thank you, _ani_!”

“Thank you?” Fareeha frowns. “Interesting choice of words.” Across the way, Zenyatta gives Genji a thumbs up. Genji returns the gesture. “Did you put him up to that, then?” Fareeha sips at her water, and eyes Zenyatta.

Zenyatta turns, the pistons in his neck sliding smoothly to a new position with a faint whir. “Genji has been interested in reconciling with his brother for a long time. He has forgiven Hanzo wholeheartedly, but Hanzo stubbornly refuses to accept that.” Zenyatta turns again, directing his gaze towards the brothers. “Sometimes one must be firm, to move forward.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Instead of taking a glass of water, McCree pulls a flask out and dumps the contents into his cup. Fareeha sniffs it. Whiskey. Of course. “By the way,” McCree lifts the glass and downs it in one go as if it were just another shot. “How was trainin’ today?” He gestures vaguely nearer towards the door. “I see you ‘n the doc have been busy.”

Fareeha follows his gaze to Angela. Her hair was wild and windswept, and the flush of the sun still touched her cheeks and nose. As Fareeha watches, Angela laughs and lightly smacks Hana on the shoulder. Fareeha is suddenly aware of her helmet hair and the smell of jet fuel that hung around her. “It’s obvious we went flying, isn’t it?” She sighs. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Ah.” McCree takes another swig of whiskey. His face suddenly lights up. “I can use those cigars I’ve had stashed away now!”

Fareeha snorts. “You would have used them anyways.”

“Maybe so, but she makes me feel guilty about it.”

“You should feel guilty about it. It’s a bad habit.” Fareeha pokes McCree in the side. He sits bolt upright with a startled squeak, and then elbows Fareeha in the stomach. Fareeha laughs, and pokes him again. “If you don’t stop smoking, I’ll tell Dr. Ziegler.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” McCree looks aghast, and then dramatically flips a hand over his head and keels over.

“Hmph.” The sniff of disdain comes from two corners of the room at once. McCree looks up, and then back and forth. In one corner, was Hanzo Shimada, looking as cold and unmoving as a slab of ice. In the other, Satya Vaswani, legs neatly crossed, wearing an identical expression. They briefly exchange eye contact, then go back to silently judging the entire room.

Fareeha glances at the clock, and then pushes herself away from the table. “See you later, then.” She nods at her friends, brings her dishes to the sink, and then heads for the door. Two hours of rest, and then it was back to work.

Angela flops into bed and groans. A shower had taken off most of the sweat, but it hadn’t stopped her muscles from complaining. Not for long, anyways. One would think flying around in the suit wouldn’t be so taxing on the body. One would think. Angela closes her eyes. One day down. Who knows how many to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ani" (兄) refers to one's own older brother


	11. Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fareeha just wants to get a proper workout in but everyone wants to talk to her for some reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's short, and rather late, so I'm really sorry for that! I've been out of town for the last week or so, meaning I haven't had a chance to write. Also a few typos have been brought to my attention; hopefully those are fixed now! Please, don't hesitate to let me know if you see something weird!

The large gym was usually deserted this early in the morning, and today was no different. For that, Angela was glad. She was awake very early, even by military standards. The large room is cool, and echoey. Angela pauses, and considers her options. After a moment, she crosses the room to a door in the far corner. Behind it is the small weight room. Angela stretches.

Fareeha tucks her water bottle under her arm and frowns. The gym lights were already on. They were dimmed considerably, but they were on. How unusual. She ponders it, then shrugs to herself. Perhaps someone hadn’t been able to sleep. She sets her water bottle down, takes several moments to stretch, and then beings to jog around the circumference of the room. Outside, the sun has barely crested the horizon.

The gym and training range showers were right across the hall. Fareeha drapes a towel around her neck and reaches for the handle on the leftmost door. Before she can touch it though, the door swings open. A curl of steam greets her.

Angela, drying her hair with a towel of her own, freezes. “Good morning.” She says at last. She steps into the hall. “Ah, sorry. You need to get into the showers, right?”

Fareeha inclines her head, but doesn’t step forward. “I am surprised to see you here this early, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Oh, that’s… well, shame on me.” She laughs a little bit. “I’ve been neglecting to stay in shape recently, and I realized that quite… sharply last night. I woke up early today hoping to remedy that a little bit.”

“Hm.” Fareeha steps past her, but pauses in the doorway. “9 o clock.”

Angela nods. “I remember.” Then, quietly, almost to herself, “Cute towel.” Fareeha looks down. The towel around her neck is sky blue and patterned with little red and white rocket ships. She hurriedly steps inside and closes the door as heat rises in her cheeks.

 

* * *

 

“Hey Angie!” The lab door practically slams open.

Angela looks up from her microscope, and rubs her eyes. It was altogether too early for this. “Hmm?”

“You know where ‘Reeha’s gotten off to?” Lena paces in a circle, then perks up and reaches out for a vial. “Hey, that’s a neat color.”

“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” Angela practically lunges across the room. She looks down. “Are you wearing crocs? In the lab? Shoo! Get out of here you walking health hazard!” She flips Lena around and pushes her quite firmly out the door as Lena laughs and raises her hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“What? About Fareeha? I have no idea where she would be. Why do you ask?” Angela steps out into the hall, casting a quick backward glance into the lab.

“I dunno, you two’ve been spending a lot of time together, figured you might know.” Lena’s face scrunches up in thought. “Think McCree’s awake at this hour?”

“Who knows.” Angela sighs. “Sometimes he sleeps until lunch, other times he’s prowling about at 2 AM. Anyways, I don’t know. We don’t talk outside of training.” Angela pauses, and her thoughts wander back a few days to another early morning. “Well, actually… maybe I do have an idea. Try the gym.” That said, Angela whirls and opens the lab again. “Don’t bother her too much, now!”

“I won’t!” Lena bounds off with a skip in her step. “Gym, right?”

“I _just_ told you that!” Angela leans back and calls after her, but Lena’s already gone. She sighs, and shakes her head.

 _Breathe in. Slowly. Breathe out._ Fareeha grunts and grits her teeth. Her muscles strain as she pull. _Hold. Breathe in. Out._ She slowly lowers herself. _One more set._ Fareeha takes a deep breath, but her focus snaps the moment the door opens. She looks up.

Lena stands outlined by the gym’s lights. “Whoo! She was right! Hey, Fareeha! Got a minute or two to spare?”

Fareeha’s brow furrows. “What? For what?” She bends over and picks up her water bottle. Now was as good a time as any for a break, she supposed.

“Oh, well…” Lena shifts, suddenly abashed. “Um, let’s just say Lúcio’s got a surprisingly good throwing arm, and uh, it’s kinda windy out, ans um…” She averts her eyes. “I’d ask Genji but I have no idea where he is, and I don’t know anyone that would know.”

Fareeha stares at her. “So…”

“Weaccidentlythrewoneofmybombsupontotheroofofthewatchpoint.” The confession spills out in lone unbroken blurt. Fareeha blinks, taking a few moments to parse the string of noise.

“Your bombs..?” Her eyes widen. “You were throwing around bombs?”

“Oh yeah. You know Winston’s shields? Has he showed you those?”

Fareeha thinks back several days, and realization strikes her. “He said that the early versions would explode when activated.”

Lena nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! Those! Anyways, I got my hands of some of them. Disarmed, don’t worry.” She adds, catching Fareeha’s surprised and concerned expression. “They tend to stick to things if you throw them hard enough, so they’re fun to lob! Except, well…”

“Except you and Lúcio managed to throw one so far that you can’t get it back.”

“Exactly! It won’t explode, probably, but Winston’s gonna be right miffed if we don’t get it back. Can’t just leave that sort of thing laying around, you know.” Lena pauses, thoughtful. “I’ll buy you something for your trouble? Spray paint?” She looks at Fareeha earnestly. “Everyone could use some spray paint!”

“Spray… paint..? What would I—what would you—” Fareeha stares, and sighs. “You know what? Alright, alright, I’ll get the suit. Where is it?”

Lena’s eyes light up. “I’ll show you! Come on!” She darts forward, grabs Fareeha’s hand, and practically carries her, sprinting to the hangar.

The hangar is still relatively empty, but there’s a bit more there than before. Brigitte had dragged her armor out of the workshop; it was set neatly next to Reinhardt’s suit. She had also dragged a bench over. Her toolbox had been set neatly on top. Evidently, she was quite determined to keep working on both suits for a while yet.

Lena almost throws Fareeha into the wall when she gets to the Raptora suit. Fareeha huffs, and leans over to catch her breath. Lena busies herself with examining the suit. “Oohhh look at these jets! And the contour on these edges! They really went all out, didn’t they?” Lena makes a few quick circles. “Still, weird shape. Not that aerodynamic, I wouldn’t think.”

“It’s not made for sustained flight. Get in quickly, get a good angle, and get out. Either short bursts or hovering.” Fareeha takes a deep breath and straightens up. As Lena darts off to open the hangar doors, Fareeha swiftly changes and runs a systems check. The nearest door opens and bathes Fareeha in a slice of pale white light before she’s even halfway done. Lena spends the rest of the tome impatiently hopping around in circles.

The morning sky is clear and beautiful. The grass waves in the light breeze, and the sun shines down with a clear, buttery light. Lena beckons Fareeha over to the northern side of the building. Lúcio jumps a little when they approach, but he breaks into a relieved smile when he sees who it is. He waves, and points up towards a roof.

“Great! It stuck!” Lena shades her eyes, and looks to where Lúcio is pointing. “It’ll be a little tough but you can hook your fingers under a notch and pull it off. Just don’t hit any switches.”

“Understood.” Fareeha is up in the air almost before Lena finishes her sentence. She rises, and circles a bit. It doesn’t take her long to spot to bomb. It had lodged near to the cliff face. Fareeha carefully descends towards it. When she’s close enough, she turns off the fuel and drops onto the roof. She hooks one hand under the bomb and pulls. It doesn’t budge. She hooks another hand under and pulls, harder this time. It still doesn’t budge. Fareeha leans backwards, grunting with exertion, but still the bomb stays firmly stuck. Finally, she braces herself with her legs against the roof and turns on her jets, peeling the bomb away.

Fareeha drops to the ground, and gingerly hands the device to Lena. “How,” she takes off her helmet. “Did you even manage to pull it off of anything else?”

Lena laughs, and flexes. She elbows Lucio, and after a moment he flexes too. “We’re strong!”

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but there’s two of us!” Lena tosses the bomb into the air, watching it glimmer in the early morning light. “Thanks, ‘Reeha!”

“No problem.” Fareeha eyes the bomb warily, and frowns. “By the way, who’s ‘she’?”

“What?” Lena gives Fareeha a quizzical look.”

“When you walked in you said ‘she was right’. Who’s ‘she’?”

“Oh, it was Angela.” Fareeha almost drops her helmet. “I didn’t know where anyone else was or if they were awake but I figured Angela was my best bet. She’s usually awake even when almost no one else is. And hey, she trains with you, so I might as well ask where she thought I could find you!” Lena shrugs. “How is that going, by the way? You two getting along?”

“Er… yeah.” Fareeha shakes her head. “I should get back to my workout. I’ll see you later then. And, if you have to play with that… be more careful. Also, don’t get me spray paint. Please. Don’t.”

“We will!” Lúcio says it in the sort of tone of someone who absolutely does not intend to be more careful.

“Hm.” Fareeha rolls her eyes, and wanders off back towards the hangar.

She returns to the weights, but she stops at the door. Fareeha looks around, and a feeling of frustrated discontent blooms in her chest. The room suddenly feels too small, too suffocating. She clenches her fist, and turns around. A walk. Or a jog. She should… she should take a jog. It takes all of her willpower to not sprint out the door.

“Good morning, Fareeha.” Fareeha skids to a stop, and looks up. Genji sits cross legged, balancing neatly on Bastion’s fence. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

“Oh, no. I’m just burning off energy.” Fareeha pauses, and approaches. “Where’s Zenyatta?”

“Oh, he is off supervising Bastion.” Genji jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “As you can see, you’re not the only one feeling restless this morning.”

Fareeha frowns. “They know they should be careful right? If anyone outside of Overwatch spots Bastion…”

“Do not worry about them. They know what they are doing.” Genji sits back ever so slightly, and hums. “Any reason, perhaps, for this energy today?”

Fareeha shrugs. “I don’t know. I think I’m… mad about something. I don’t know.” She sighs. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I understand the feeling perfectly, Fareeha.” Genji pats the fence beside him. “Did McCree ever day much about me?”

Fareeha trots over, and pulls herself onto the fence, dangling her feet over the grass. “Only that you were skilled.”

Genji snorts. “I’m sure he had much less polite things to say. I gave him a hard time. I gave everyone a hard time.” Fareeha is silent. “I was angry. I hurt people to get it out. It is a wonder that I still have friends in Overwatch.”

“I think they understood.” Fareeha says, softly. “They’re familiar with people who are hurting. And I only know as much as I’ve been told, but it seems that you deserved to be angry.”

Genji shakes his head. “I took it out on people that weren’t to blame. It is not so easy, to heal wounds of the heart.”

Fareeha is quiet for a long time. “So what happened?”

Genji shrugs. “I helped dismantle my family’s empire. Then, there was nothing more that I wanted from Overwatch. I left, though Reyes was loathe to let me go. I traveled aimlessly for a long time. Then I met Zenyatta.”

“Reyes, hm?” Fareeha stares off into the middle distance, hunched over, elbows propped on her knees. “He was one of my mother’s best friends, but I never knew him well. What was he like? Do you mind me asking?”

“No, not at all.” Genji tilts his head back, and considers the sky. “What was he like? Well, he was a… how do you call it? A hardass. He was a tough, no nonsense man. He was smart, practical, and dedicated, so that nothing ever got between him and what he wanted. He had all of our respect, begrudging or not. Don’t get me wrong, he was a good man. Just not a soft one. He was kind though, in his way. Treated us like his kids.” Genji laughs. “Especially McCree. Dragged him kicking and screaming to Ana and then fussed over the two of them for weeks. He knew that Ana could train McCree better than he ever could, but he’d be aggressively protective the entire way.”

“I don’t believe my mother would have tolerated that.”

“She didn’t. Practically kicked him out the door and slammed it in his face.” Genji chuckles. “Good times.”

Fareeha laughs too, but her smile quickly fades the longer she thinks about Ana. “My mother kept her work and her family separate.” Fareeha loosely links her fingers together and looks down. “It once struck me that she spent more time with Overwatch than she did with me. I was probably out of touch with her life.” She looks at Genji. “Can you tell me about it? About everything. Everyone.”

“If I were to tell you everything that I knew about every agent, we would be here for days. Is there anyone in particular?”

A sudden memory from earlier in the morning springs to Fareeha’s mind. _“Oh, it was Angela.”_ She hesitates. “Dr. Ziegler?”

“Angela?” Genji seems almost surprised. He hums a little bit. “We met when she saved my life. She was the first thing I saw when I woke up. After that, she was the one that did all the surgery to install this.” He gestures vaguely at his entire body. “She monitored me the entire time I was with Overwatch. She was mostly looking at my physical and mental health, not only making sure I was okay but also collecting data. There had never been a case of such extensive cyberization before, so she and the rest of the research departments wanted to know as much as they could. Anyways, I was always grateful to her for saving me, but I think she always blamed herself for how distraught I was. She is a kind woman. Above all else she wishes to help, to heal, and to protect. She was always sad about how violent I was. About all the combat enhancements they made her install in me. Life is the most precious thing in the world to her. She was, of course, not happy that the higher ups wanted to use her work to hurt and kill. She wasn’t happy that I wanted to do it either, but she didn’t blame me for lashing out.” Genji tilts his head, and his visor catches the sun, making it gleam brightly in the light. “She was a good friend. Better than I deserved. We kept in touch even after our paths parted.”

Fareeha doesn’t say anything. She just stares at the horizon, where the rippling grey waters meet the cloudy sky. At last, she speaks. “Thank you, for humoring me. I should go now. Get ready for training and all that.”

Genji inclines his head. “Of course. Give my regards to Angela.”

The third interruption of the morning comes in the form of a message. It’s brief, and simple. _“Urgent: Please report to the control center immediately.”_  It lights up in bright, alarming yellow. Fareeha frowns, and turns vaguely in the direction of the control center. Then, she sets off at a brisk pace, half trotting through the halls.

“Winston?” Fareeha pushes the door open, and peers inside. Winston is pacing in circles and muttering to himself. Off to the side, Angela stands with her back to the door. She turns and smiles a little as Fareeha enters.

“Ah, good, you’re here.” Winston looks around, and then appears to give up and simply sets himself down on the floor. “I’m sorry to call you in on such short notice. Let me explain the situation.” A map appears on the wall, then zooms in on Russia. It highlights a sport somewhere in the western reaches of Siberia. “Recently, a group has appeared in this region. They have captured some civilians from a nearby town, and have demanded a ransom. Most armed forces in Russia are trying to deal with the omnic threat right now, but some are on their way back to try to diffuse the situation. However, almost overnight, extremely powerful weapons have appeared at the base. A new demand has been made: pay them money, and they won’t use the weapons on the nearby people. I hope you understand why this is such a delicate situation now.”

Angela’s brow furrows. “And we have no idea where the weapons came from? And is it just us?”

Winston shakes his head. “None. Yes, it is just you. As it stands, I’m hoping that they will either not notice or underestimate you. I’m sending you two in because the ground is so heavily locked down that the only way this would work is through the air.”

Angela cocks her head. “Why not send in more air backup then?”

“Likely because he can’t. Aerial defense systems consist of two parts. The first is a jamming signal that disables drones and the like. The second is a system of guns that automatically lock onto and shoot down anything large enough to be a piloted aircraft. They don’t target anything smaller because it’s a waste of time and ammunition. However, something like the Raptora suit can slip through undetected by the automated systems.”

Winston nods. “Correct. There are some troops on the ground. You need to give them enough air support to allow them to safely extract all civilians. Go get ready. Lena’ll fly you in, and Athena can give you the details on the way there.”


	12. Cut and Dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding moment..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a solid 12 hours to draft and another 4-5 to research so it's quite late and I'm really sorry about that!

There is something both disconcerting and soothing all at once about being up high. The world spreads out before you and all the conflicts seem so small and far away, something which is simultaneously peaceful and lonely. Angela shivers. Siberia was already cold. Up in the air, with the wind tearing away the heat, it was even colder.

“This is Pharah. We’re closing on the target.” The voice crackles with static, and cuts through the sound of the roaring wind like a hot knife through butter. Ahead, Fareeha adjusts her angle, and tips into a dive. Angela gives her a few moments to put distance between them, then tilts her wings and follows.

The comms crackle again. “How long?” There is just a hint of hesitation; this is the voice of someone who is not quite confident in how fluent they are.

“Contact in 6.” Angela squints. Down on the ground, she can make out a long, steely-grey structure. A sentry tower, capped by an automatic turret trained on the ground. Their first target.

“5. 4. 3. 2.”

“1.” Two rockets hit the tower at the same time. One from the air, and one from the ground. The one that came from the sky is accompanied by a flash of light; for the briefest moment Angela’s tether sings to life and then it is gone. Angela swivels her wings, pulling up sharply, and darts towards Fareeha, who had already pulled out of her dive and was climbing back up to a safer altitude.

“First pass successful.” An officer gives confirmation from the ground. Below, Angela can see people clambering over the rubble.

“Roger that. Climbing to altitude. Commencing second pass in about 20 seconds.” Above, Fareeha twists and glances down at Angela. Still in range. Good. Angela looks up and shyly gives her a thumbs up. Fareeha pretends to not notice and turns back around.

The second dive goes relatively smoothly. Then, things start to get hairy. A bullet grazes Fareeha’s head, snipping off strand of hair. She immediately turns off the boosters and drops. The second and third shots go wide. The fourth nicks her ear. Within moments however, a yellow beam melds into Fareeha’s back and the graze is gone, leaving behind only a ringing in Fareeha’s ear. After that, they start to target Angela.

It takes time to get back to relative safety, but they’re pushed into an awkward position. Fareeha doesn’t like it. Either they go lower and become an easier target, or they drop to the ground entirely and forfeit air control. Either way, they had to come down eventually. It seemed the snipers knew that too. They weren’t even trying to shoot that high. To the side, Angela carves some loops in the air. She keeps looking down, then looking over at Fareeha. She’s worried for the people on the ground.

Fareeha takes a deep, shuddering breath and dives. She tries to flicker her boosters, to vary her fall unpredictably, but there’s only so much she can do. The closer she gets to the ground, the heavier the fire gets. Behind her, Angela cries out, and Fareeha twists to look. Suddenly, the shooting stops, and the world slows down.

The first thing she sees is a glint in the corner of her eye. Fareeha’s moving before she can think. Her hands reach out, and grab at Angela. They catch something—a wrist, maybe. Fareeha doesn’t pause to look. She spins, grabs Angela by the shoulders, pushes Angela through the nearest window, and dives through after her. Where Fareeha’s head had been, something slams into the wall. It smells like metal. She can dimly hear Angela saying something.

“Mercy here, we’ve been pinned down by a sniper. Top floor of a building near the fourth tower. Opposite a reddish structure. We need backup.”

“We are coming, but it will take time. There are too many—” the comm cuts off for a moment. Angela presses her lips together and exchanges a glance with Fareeha. “Too many guns between here and there.” Then, both of their earpieces fall silent.

Angela flattens herself to the floor and scoots under the window to Fareeha’s side. “Are you alright?” Her blue eyes scan Fareeha worriedly.

“Are _you_?” Fareeha scoots over, giving them both room to sit comfortably in the corner. “I heard something. It sounded like you were hurt.”

“I’m fine. The suit works fast.” She extends an arm. There’s a hole in the sleeve, but the skin underneath is only lightly bruised. “No bullet. Pulse munitions, then. That’s lucky. But enough about me.” She reaches out. “How are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine.” Fareeha sits back with a sigh. “But that was too close.”

Angela doesn’t quite look convinced, but she settles back as well. “It was. I got the impression that these people are relatively untrained, but now I have my doubts.” She eyes the patches of light thrown on the ground through the windows. “Maybe it was just a fluke, but if it wasn’t and we go out there…”

“We’re dead.” Fareeha finishes her sentence. “So all we can do is wait.” She tilts her head back, and rests it against the wall.

Angela looks at Fareeha, then at her hands. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is so soft that Fareeha can barely hear it over the gunfire. “For what I said. At the museum. It was insensitive.”

Now it’s Fareeha’s turn to look up. She clears her throat. “Right.”

Angela looks up, and catches Fareeha’s eyes before she can look away. She smiles. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm.” Fareeha shifts and points her rocket launcher at the single door leading into the room. “Let’s talk later. If we come out alive.”

One hand shoots out and grabs Fareeha’s arm. Surprised, Fareeha looks over, and almost jumps. She can all but feel the determination blazing in those eyes. “No one—not you, not me, nor anyone else is dying here today. Not if I can help it.” Angela lets go of Fareeha’s arm and turns to face the door as well. “I promise.”

After that, they are quiet. They just listen to the comms, and try to map out the fighting in their heads. The soldiers try to speak in English, but many times they use the language they are more comfortable with. It takes over an hour, but the sound of fighting eventually sweeps around the building, then slightly past it.

“Pharah and Mercy, coming in.”

Angela switches on her comm. “Copy that. Come in.” Within minutes, the door is flung open, and a small squad of soldiers spills in. Angela is on her feet in moments. “Are any of you hurt?”

They mill about for a few moments before one man steps forward. “Injured fighters are being gathered south of here.”

Fareeha addresses the soldiers. “Has the sniper been neutralized?”

Several shake their heads. The man from before speaks up again. “We didn’t find anyone.”

“So we need to be careful still.” Fareeha crosses to the broken window and looks down. She looks over her shoulder. “Let’s go find the captain, and get a more thorough overview.” She steps out the window when she sees Angela nod.

The air smells like smoke, and rubble is scattered all over the ground. Fareeha’s landing triggers a small landslide of gravel and dust. “What’s the situation?” Behind her, Angela touches down.

“Only a little more to the north, but most have fled or surrendered.” The captain points up at the stocky grey building she is standing in front of. “Hostages are up there.”

Fareeha rolls her neck. “Let’s go help secure everything else, then.” She jumps back up into the sky.

Within minutes, Angela suddenly swerves and turns, staring down at the ground. She points and says something, but Fareeha shakes her head. She can’t hear over the sound of the jets. She begins to make signs with her hands. _“Injured people on the ground.”_ She stops, and raises her eyebrows.

Fareeha frowns, but puts her index finger and thumb together to indicate understanding. Then she points to her ear, as if to say _“Why aren’t you using the comm? Is yours broken?”_

Angela hesitates, then wraps two fingers around her right wrist. _“Enemy.”_ Fareeha stiffens, then shakes her head adamantly. Angela gives her a cool look right before folding her wings and diving.

She flares her wings out before she reaches the ground, slowing her descent, but she still hits the ground hard. Angela looks around, to quickly get her bearings. She runs forward a little, then looks around again. _There._ To her left is a squat, dark grey building. In its shadow, desperately trying to stay hidden, two figures are pressed against the wall. One of them yells and raises a gun as Angela approaches. Their hand trembles. The other one elbows them in the side. The gun is dropped. Both raise their hands weakly.

“Can I come closer?” Did they speak English? Judging by the looks on their faces, they didn’t. Angela pulls out a medkit. She carefully comes closer. The two don’t relax, but they don’t make any move to stop her either. Just before she comes within arms reach, Fareeha drops out of the sky, kicking up a cloud of dust. Angela ignores her, and kneels, opening the kit.

“What are you doing?” Fareeha looks at Angela, then looks at the soldiers. Her eyes drift over to the gun on the ground. She strides over and snatches it up. The soldiers look terrified.

“They needed help.” Angela reaches out the the more injured one, who is very pale and sits with their leg at an awkward angle. Blood still seeps through the cloth of their pants. She creeps a little bit closer and reaches out for the pant leg. Understanding her intention, the other soldier reaches out to help expose the wound as well. Angela’s brows knit together when she sees the damage. “ _Herrgott_ … Fareeha, come over here, and hold the leg still, please.”

Fareeha frowns, but obeys. “Here.” She taps Angela on the shoulder, then presents her with the gun. “The only compartments on this thing are for rockets and fuel. It’s best for you to take it.” Angela takes it and stows it without a word.

Angela turns and reaches for the medkit. Fareeha kneels by her side, and firmly holds the leg down. Before she knows it, Angela has turned back around, with a syringe, wipes, and gloves. She catches the look on Fareeha’s face. “Prophylactic antibiotics.” Fareeha looks away as Angela leans closer. A few moments later, she hears some shuffling. She looks back around, to find Angela sitting up with a roll of gauze in her hands. “Are you afraid of needles, Fareeha?”

Fareeha’s face heats up a little bit. “... No.”

Angela laughs, a little. “It’s alright, you know. But nevermind that, lift that leg up; I need to dress this.” She unravels the gauze a little bit, then leans back in. Fareeha obliges, and looks over at the soldier’s face. They’re in great pain, that much is clear. The other soldier is holding their hand and muttering something. “Thanks, you can set that down now.” Angela turns again, and her fingers run lightly along the inside of the medkit. She comes back with a splint.

Fareeha sits back after the leg’s been splinted. After an awkward pause, she clears her throat. “Do you… need anything else?”

“Maybe.” Angela raises a quizzical eyebrow at the two soldiers. The less injured one points to the side of the other, on the right, nearer the hip, then their own shoulder and side, closer to the ribs this time. Angela nods. She gently rolls up the shirt of the first soldier. She lets out a sigh of relief. “Pulse munitions again. Good. It’s not bad.” Angela picks up her staff, points it, and turns it on. She watches the tissue heal, and thinks for a moment. “Fareeha, hold this.” She shoves the staff into Fareeha’s arms and pulls a pair of shears out of her belt. She turns to the second soldier. “In the meantime, I can do this.” The soldier looks frankly terrified by this woman approaching them with massive scissors, but they stay still.

“Should I stop now, or..?” To Fareeha, the wound looks healed. She looks over at Angela.

“This one’s alright, but the other one hit bone, so it’d be prudent to…” She presses a finger to her lips, muttering to herself. Suddenly, it’s as if she snaps out of a haze. She looks up. “What?” Angela scoots over and inspects the wound. “Yes, that’s fine. One hand reaches out and grabs the staff. It deactivates. “Anyways, I need to clean and bandage one more thing, but that’s about all I can do right now.” Angela produces another swab. “Can’t exactly perform surgery out here, and both of these people have lost a lot of blood.” She shakes her head and grumbles something about IVs and backpacks. “I was hoping to avoid it, but I guess it can’t be helped.”

“What, taking them into a hospital?” Fareeha picks up some gauze and holds it out.

“No,” Angela takes the gauze and starts to wrap the wound. “Having to tell the captain in charge of all this. And, inevitably, arguing with her.” She sighs. “Oh well. Done it a million times before, and I’ll do it a million times again. Can you radio in for help?”

Fareeha nods and opens her comm. Meanwhile, Angela finishes bandaging the shoulder and moves on to letting the staff take care of the last shot. While that’s happening, she checks over both soldiers, then turns back to her kit and growls in frustration. They had managed to make a thin but effective blanket, but hadn’t given her more than one. Angela makes a mental note to make sure that changed by the next mission, and then wraps the blanket around the shoulders of the one with the broken leg. They’re barely conscious. Finally, she begins to pack up.

By the time she’s finished, a small group of people have appeared from around the corner, carrying a stretcher. The one with the broken leg is loaded onto the stretcher and whisked away. The one that can walk follows, propped up by another medic. Both Fareeha and Angela watch them go.

“Alright, then. Let’s get going as well.” Fareeha stands up, and brushes off her knees.

“Mm. Yeah.” Angela stretches. “Ready when you are.”

Fighting had mostly died down at that point. It seemed that many had fled soon after the battle started, and the ones that remained were quickly defeated and rounded up. Still, Fareeha and Angela only touched back down at camp in the late afternoon, borderline early evening. After that, Angela spent roughly half an hour arguing heatedly with the officer in charge of the operation. Fareeha waited patiently outside the tent.

Angela pushes open the tent flap, and takes a deep breath of the cool air. “So, what’s the decision?” Fareeha watches her carefully.

“Oh the usual. ‘Fine but don’t do it again.’” Angela throws her hands into the air. “Why people get so mad, is beyond me.”

“We _were_ on our way to help our allies. And people can feel… insecure when you do things like that.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Angela folds her arms.

“No.” Fareeha agrees softly.

Angela rubs her forehead. “I need a drink.” At that moment, her phone goes off. Angela shoves her hand into her pocket and pulls it out. Her tone is terse, to say the least. “What.”

“It’s Winston.” He sounds somewhat sheepish. “Uh, is this a bad time?”

Fareeha leans in. “No, it’s fine.” Angela gives her a dirty look.

“Oh, good! Well, I’ve heard that your mission is complete, right? But while you’re there, could you investigate the site? We need to find out how this happened.”

Angela rubs her eyes, and sighs. “Of course, Winston. If they’ll let us.”

“Don’t worry about that. You’ll have to clear anything that you intend on actually taking, but I don’t anticipate many problem there. Your Overwatch comms are equipped with a camera function, so this would be a great time to try them out! Ask Athena if you need help.” In the background, what sounds like a cat yowls, followed by a crashing noise. Angela can almost hear Winston wincing. “I… have to go.” _Click._ The line falls silent.

“Since when have we had a cat?” Angela wonders out loud.

“Brigitte’s got at least one.” Fareeha tilts her head. “Anyways, what did he say?”

“He says that we need to investigate into the site. He’s even built cameras into the comms.” Angela shakes her head. “Typical of Winston. Apparently we should ask Athena if we need help.”

“So we need to fly back over, then.” Fareeha combs a few fingers through her hair and puts her helmet back on. “Might as well get started.”

“Hm, yeah.” Angela puts her phone away and steps back as Fareeha blasts off. After a moment, she follows Fareeha into the evening sky.

At a comfortable cruise, it takes about 10 minutes to reach the site. As it appears on the horizon, Angela quietly murmurs into her comm. “Athena?”

“Yes?” The reply is immediate.

“You can record what we see, right?”

“Yes.”

“So should I just say ‘activate recording mode’? Is there a specific command?”

“That would be fine, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Thank you, Athena. Then, could you do that for both of us?” Angela looks at Fareeha. Fareeha gives her a thumbs up without turning around. “Right, for both of us.”

“Right away, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Thanks again.”

“Of course.”

Fareeha pulls up into a hover, and looks down. Smoke still rises from several spots on the ground. “Let’s get started then.” She points at the towers, the central building, and the collection of other buildings scattered around it. “This almost looks like a village from the sky, but most of it appeared practically overnight? I’m not sure if I buy it.”

“That’s true. Even with incredible funding and a large workforce, this would have been nigh impossible.” Angela squints down at the ground. She points to a reddish structure. “That was where the sniper was, right? Let’s start there, and see if we can identify anything.”

“What even is this?” Fareeha lands carefully on one beam, then looks around and up. “It looks almost like an anti-aircraft gun, but not like any I’ve ever seen before.” She reaches out and brushes a hand along the metal.

“Suppose we’ll just have to leave it to someone else, then. Angela hops down, and walks along another platform. “You saw better than I did. Where was the sniper shooting from, do you think?”

Fareeha thinks, tapping a finger against her chin. She flies out a little ways, looks at the whole structure from a different angle, then comes back in, landing in a nook near the upper left corner. “Here.” There are some marks, but Fareeha can’t tell if they’re from equipment or just the weather.

“What’s this?” The nook opens into the inside of the structure, but there are not stairs or ladders up or down. Angela swings down from the level just above and points at a deep, short gauge in the metal.

“Probably a hook mark, unless this sniper can climb like a Shimada.” Fareeha gives the area one last sweep and then looks down. “I don’t see any casings. They’ve been meticulous.”

“But there was a bullet.” Angela looks across the way, to the shattered window that they had crashed through earlier that day. “That would be harder to retrieve without getting spotted. Shall we take a look?” Without waiting for a reply, Angela hops off the ledge and drifts to the ground. Fareeha drops down after her shortly afterwards.

“It’s one bullet, but it’s… worth a shot.” Fareeha smiles a little bit to herself. She stiffens when Angela throws her a look over her shoulder. “What are you giving me that look for?”

“Oh, nothing.” Angela pulls out a small flashlight. “If it hit somewhere up there,” she shines the light near the window. “Then I suppose it’d bounce to somewhere around…” She turns, and shines the flashlight into the dirt behind her. She waves it around. Something gleams in the light. “There.” She turns the flashlight off and bends down to pick it up.

“Let me see.” Fareeha holds it between her thumb and index finger. “What do you think? .50 caliber?” She turns it over. “Boat tailed. Pretty standard, really.”

“Well, might as well keep it for now.” Angela pockets the flashlight. “So, where to next?”

“The towers.” Fareeha’s reply is swift, and near immediate. “Those things were high tech, but they were taken down so easily that it makes me think these people didn’t actually know how to use them. So now I’m wondering where, how, and why they got them.”

“That’s true.” Angela looks at the trail of blueish smoke rising into the sky to the south. “Not sure how much of them are left, though.”

“There’s some, and that’s good enough for me.” Fareeha’s jets fire. “Ready?” Angela nods, and in a moment they’re back into the sky.

The fourth tower is the one that is most intact, but it still has a smoking hole in its side. The warped metal opens into a stairwell. Angela frowns when she sees this. “They said there weren’t any people in here.”

“Maintenance shaft, maybe.” Fareeha pokes her head inside and looks up and down, then pulls out and rises closer to the top. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m worrying about it.” Angela reluctantly follows.

The guns themselves seem relatively undamaged, but they are, of course, deactivated. Fareeha hops down onto the roof, and circles them several times. “Fusion canons?” She squints at the barrels.

A little ways away, Angela points at a hatch in the roof. “Shall we work our way down, then? The control panel should be somewhere in there.”

“Yes. Just be careful.” Fareeha taps the building with her foot. “We don’t want this collapsing with us in it.”

“Sure.” Angela pulls open the hatch with a grunt. A ladder descends into the darkness. “Alright, then.”

3 meters down, the ladder ends in a small room. It’s dominated by a panel on one side. Large red letters glow on it. “‘Deactivated’, I’d assume.” Fareeha strides over to the panel and leans over it. “This would be easier if I could read it… well I recognize some of these, at least.” She points to a few buttons marked with symbols. “Nothing unusual.” She hesitates, then taps one with her finger. The new window blips to life, unfolding into blocks upon blocks of text.” Fareeha mutters something under her breath. “Are those dates, do you think?”

Angela looks over her shoulder. “Looks like it.”

“And how long have these things supposedly been here? Less than a week?” Fareeha scrolls up. “These go back for _months_. This has been operating for much longer than we thought.”

“Maybe it was just moved?” Angela’s voice is uncertain.

“And they didn’t erase any previous logs? No. The same organization has been using this for months.” Fareeha slowly scrolls through each entry again to make sure the camera caught it. She closes the log and backs away. Her eyes drift over to a door. It opens into a dimly lit stairwell.

Angela and Fareeha descend it silently. “Wait.” Angela holds out a hand, then taps a metal panel. She wraps her fingers around one loose corner, and pulls. Behind it is nothing but pipes and wiring. Angela flips her flashlight on and shines it in. More pipes and wiring. She scans the whole thing, then replaces the panel. “Maybe someone back at base could make something of that. Sorry. Let’s keep moving.”

The stairwell winds around the tower, all the way down to the bottom. About halfway up, the two come across the hole in the wall again. They pause to look out briefly, but continue downwards. They don’t find anything else of interest. By the time they emerge from a door at the base of the tower though, night has fallen.

Fareeha looks around. “Let’s try—”

“Heya!” She’s interrupted by a cheerful chirp from her comm. “Tracer’s back in town! Did ya miss me?” She doesn’t wait to let either reply. “Let’s get you two home, yeah?”

“Already?” Fareeha frowns. “We haven’t had nearly enough time to investigate this whole place—”

“Yeah, well, the deal was you get to stay until 10PM tonight, so if we don’t clear out people’ll start gettin’ antsy. So get on over to the landing pad!” _Click._

Fareeha growls in frustration and clenches her fist. Angela puts a hand on her shoulder. “There’s not much we can do right now. Let’s go.” She pulls the gun out of her pocket. “Come on, we still need to clear this and the bullet.”

“...Sure.” Fareeha shrugs her hand off. Her thrusters fire one last time for the day. Angela takes a few steps back and watches.

Lena’s leaning against the carrier, twiddling her thumbs when Fareeha and Angela arrive. “Finally! You two took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

Angela shrugs. “Oh, you know me. Can’t resist an opportunity to have a good long argument with high command.”

Lena snickers at that. She raises a hand, and the carrier beeps as its door lowers. “Come on then, or we’re gonna be late!”

Angela is all too happy to oblige. She drags herself in and collapses in the nearest seat with a groan. Fareeha, meanwhile, boards more reluctantly and paces in circles until Lena tells her to sit down and buckle up for takeoff. When they’ve leveled out, she gets up and starts pacing again.

Angela takes the opportunity to just lie down completely. She squints up at the lights in the ceiling, then covers her eyes with her arm and groans again. The carrier is silent, aside from the hum of the plane itself and the _tap-tap_ of Fareeha’s feet. Her helmet is discarded on her seat, but she’s still wearing everything else.

The silence is broken by a rumble. Fareeha stops, and stares at Angela. Another rumble. Lena looks over the edge of her seat and raises an eyebrow. “Was that you, Angie?”

“I… guess we haven’t eaten since this morning.” Fareeha scratches her head. “Never had the time, really.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Lena leans over and rummages around under her seat. “Courtesy of Brigitte and Reinhardt!” She holds out two paper bags. Angela sits up and watches as Fareeha opens one.

“...Huh.” She pulls out a sandwich. It’s cut into the shape of a cat’s face. “I can tell.”

“Reinhardt wanted to put some beer in but Winston wouldn’t let him.” Lena shrugs. “He settled for juice boxes.”

“Darn you, Winston.” Angela sighs. “I could really use a drink. Oh well, juice boxes are good too.” She reaches out to Fareeha. Fareeha passes a bag over, somewhat amused. She rummages around in her own until she finds the juice.

“Did they give us fruit snacks too?”

Lena shrugs. “Who knows? I wasn’t actually paying attention.”

Angela tips out her own onto one of the small tables. “They did give us fruit snacks.” She picks up a small packet in awe.

“Did they actually?” Lena turns around again. “Save some for me!”

“Not a chance.” Fareeha tears her packet open. “You got lunch and dinner.”

“They didn’t include fruit snacks!” Lena whirls around, and presses a button. “Em! Em this is important.”

The speaker crackles for a moment. A voice comes through. “What? Lena? Aren’t you on a mission right now?”

“Yes, yes, but more importantly, when’s the last time you’ve had fruit snacks? When the last time I’ve had fruit snacks?”

“Too long ago?” Angela can almost hear the smile in Emily’s voice.

“Exactly! And, can you believe it, I’m sitting here right now, flying Angie and ‘Reeha back to Gibraltar, and they _won’t even give me any fruit snacks._ ” Lena makes a face towards her passengers. Angela makes eye contact and eats another fruit snack. Lena looks offended.

“Wow, what a travesty.” Emily sounds like she’s holding back laughter. “That’s so rude!”

“I know!” Lena sighs.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to go buy some the next time you’ve got a break.”

Lena’s eyes suddenly twinkle. “Oh, so it’s a date?”

“A fruit snack shopping date?” This time Emily actually laughs. “Sure, luv.”

“Great! I’ll look forward to it! Bye! Have a nice…” Lena pauses and does some subtraction on her fingers. “Afternoon! Love you Em!”

“Love you too.” Emily laughs again, and hangs up.

Angela feigns a look of disgust. “Wow, that was unbearably cute.”

“You have your girlfriend on speed dial?” Fareeha finishes her sandwich.

“You don’t?” Lena looks offended on behalf of the girlfriend.

“I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Lena grins a little. “I feel bad for you.”

“We can’t all be huge babes, Lena.” Angela crumples up her empty bag and lays back down again with a sigh.

“I’m not the huge babe, Em is!” Lena turns back around to look out the windshield. Angela gives Fareeha a look as if to say _“See what I mean?”_ Fareeha shakes her head and shrugs.

“Well, I’m going to take a nap.” Angela waves vaguely. “Bye. Wake me up when we get there.”

“Sure thing, Angie.” Lena gives her a thumbs up. Angela, who is already mostly asleep, doesn’t notice. Fareeha, who didn’t have the luxury of a more comfortable suit, just sits down and thinks.

 _“I should have apologized too.”_  The thought that had lingered at the back of her head since noon suddenly springs to mind. Fareeha remembers the way Angela looked, before the fourth dive. The way she kept looking down, then up. _“There are people down there. We need to help. We’re going to help.”_  They seemed to say. Fareeha looks at Angela. Several strands of hair have fallen into her mouth. Her breathing is quiet, steady.

“We’re not so different after all, Angela.” Fareeha says, quietly, so quietly that only she can hear. “Not so different after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Herrgott" means "dear lord".


	13. Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mostly slice of life at the watchpoint. Mostly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am woefully behind on my schedule here x-x I'm very sorry about that!

“So much for one shot one kill, hm, _mi amiga?_ Heh…”

“Don’t call me that.”

 

* * *

 

Fareeha blinks awake, squinting at the light streaming through her window. She sits up, rubs her eyes, and groans. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Exactly 8 hours, 13 minutes, and 29 seconds.”

Fareeha half jumps out of bed. “Rhetorical question, Athena.”

“I see.”

Fareeha rubs her neck and yawns. “Have you… been watching this whole time?”

“I monitor the sleep cycles of all active agents on Dr. Ziegler’s request.”

“I see.” Fareeha glances at the clock as she gets changed. Just past noon. Lunch would be over by now. Maybe she could go hunting for leftovers.

“Haha yeah! Got’em!” Hana’s eager voice pierces Fareeha’s ears the moment she steps into the commons, clutching a plate of bread and beans. The sound is followed by a lot of clicking and explosion sounds.

“What?” Lúcio says. “I pressed A!”

“Git gud, Lu.” Hana sticks her tongue out, and finally notices Fareeha standing in the doorway. “Hey! You’re awake! Angela beat you to waking up, you know.”

“Well, Dr. Ziegler got a head start on the plane.” Fareeha sits down at a vacant table.

Angela’s head appears around the side of the couch that Lúcio and Hana were sitting on. “Still won.” She grins, and disappears again.

“Hey, hey, move your feet!” Hana also disappears behind the couch.

“Nope.” Angela’s voice drifts over to a bemused Fareeha. “Besides, you have plenty of room.”

“Yeah I don’t see what you’re complaining about.” Lúcio chips in.

“Oh now you’re just being mean!” From behind the couch comes a _thwak._

“Angelaaaa, she just punched me!”

“It was a fake punch!”

“No punching, kids.”

“We’re _all_ adults, Angie!”

“Does that mean I can punch her back?”

“No.”

Hana appears, and flips over the couch. She points at Fareeha. “Hey, do you have any apples or something like that?”

“Nope.” Fareeha spoons some beans into her mouth.

“She’s gone! Quick, grab the controller and throw her character off the map.” Hana whirls around and dives back over. “I was joking!” Fareeha snorts and stands up.

“You’re not staying?” Hana stops and looks up with her arms in the air, cushion gripped fiercely in both hands.

“I’ve got chores.” Fareeha slips her hands into her pockets. “You have fun though.”

“Eugh. Chores.” Hana wrinkles her nose. “Hey, if you’re going to the hangar, make sure no one’s touching my mech! Especially Torbjörn. If you catch Torbjörn poking around my area kick his ass!”

“Language!” Angela lightly smacks Hana in the stomach.

“Don’t pretend you don’t say it too, Angie!” Hana suddenly snaps her head around and brings the cushion down. Lúcio yelps. Fareeha hides a smile as she ducks out of the room.

The hangar is cool and quiet, aside from the _tink tink_ echoing through the big empty space. Brigitte sits at the far end, rag draped around her shoulders, staring intently at something in her hands. A large, fluffy white cat is curled up right next to her. As Fareeha enters, she stops her work briefly to wave. “Hey hey! Glad to see you up and around!”

Fareeha nods, and moves over to her suit. “Seen your father around? Hana said to uh… ‘kick his ass’ if he’s been poking around the mech.”

Brigitte laughs. “Nah, he wouldn’t. He’s in meetings with Winston and Satya about what you brought back anyways. But I’ll let him know.”

“Thanks.” Fareeha looks her suit up and down. Brigitte follows her gaze.

“Did you want me to take a look at that? I didn’t know if you were okay with it so…”

“Hm? Oh, well, if you’re okay with it, that’d be nice.”

“It’s no problem!” Brigitte stops her work to gently pat the snoozing cat behind the ears.

“You’re not in those meetings?”

“Oh, nah, armor and shields are more my thing. They know to ask if they need to.” Brigitte laughs. “Besides, it’s been interesting in here. Hana spent a solid hour trying to convince one of her engineers to do a video call. They really didn’t want to disclose info on their mechs. I wonder why.” Fareeha snorts.

“Thanks for the food, by the way.” Fareeha steps away from the suit after one more careful look.

“Hm? Oh, yeah! Sure thing!” Brigitte waves again. “See you around!”

“And you as well. Let me know if I can ever do anything for you.” Fareeha waves as well, turning back towards the door.

Fareeha returns to her room, and looks around, hands on hips. After a few moments of consideration, she sits down, pulls over her laundry hamper, and begins to sort and fold her clothes. After that, it’s making the bed, sorting the drawers, wiping down all surfaces, sweeping, and vacuuming. Fareeha takes a shower, drops into bed, takes a nap, wakes up, makes the bed again, and by then it’s somehow late afternoon and she’s getting a call from McCree.

“Hey uh… so I made a bet, and…” McCree coughs delicately.

“I'm not lending you money, McCree. Never again.”

“Huh? Oh yeah, Ana was sure mad about that one, eh? But I don’t need money. The thing is, uh, Genji’s trying to teach me to climb cliffs.”

“Genji’s teaching you to climb walls?”

“Uh, yeah. And Hanzo. Hanzo’s here too.” His voice lowers to a whisper. “Please don’t leave me alone with these two.”

“I—”

“Please.”

“Alright.” Fareeha rolls her eyes. “I’ll be outside in a moment.”

“Knew I could count on you!” Fareeha can almost feel McCree making finger guns. In the background, Hanzo scoffs so loudly that she can actually hear it.

This afternoon, the winds coming off the sea are warm and wet. Overhead, a handful of gulls circle and squawk at each other. Below, on the cliffs, Genji’s body catches the light of the sun and flings it right into Fareeha’s eyes. He waves cheerfully.

Fareeha squints. “Can you stand at a different angle?”

“Hm?” Genji looks down. “Oh!” He backs up into the shadow of the Watchpoint. Above, the gulls circle lower, emboldened by the disappearance of the bright light. Hanzo gives them an evil look.

“So…” McCree looks over the cliff edge. “Okay, uh, that doesn’t look… terrible…”

“Down to the purple flowers and back, McCree!” Genji’s reminder is cheerful.

“Any tips?”

“Hook your fingers and hold on tight.” Genji sits down. “Hey, if you need help, ask Hanzo! He’ll help! Right Hanzo?”

“I will not.”

“He’ll help!”

“Sure you don’t want me to hold onto your hat?” Fareeha sits down in the shade as well.

“You can pry it out of my cold, dead, hands.” McCree grabs his hat and pulls it down over his head as if to emphasize his point. “You ain’t coming with me?”

“Nope.” Fareeha smiles. “I just said I’d be here.”

“You suck, Amari.” Fareeha sticks out her tongue. McCree glares at her then lowers himself over the side of the cliff.

“So,” Genji leans back. “Find anything interesting in Russia?”

Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “They haven’t told you?”

“No.” Genji shrugs. “They probably will, though. Too busy analyzing everything right now to tell anyone that doesn’t need to know.”

“So uh… where do I go from here?” McCree’s voice drifts over the ledge.

Hanzo looks down. “Put. Your. Foot. On. The. Wall.”

“Not helpful!” Fareeha vaguely hears the sound of rocks clattering. “Not at all helpful!”

“It is if you’re not an idiot.”

“We found a lot of things that shouldn’t have been there. A full compound, fusion powered sentry turrets, and air defenses like nothing I’ve seen before. We were fighting relatively untrained soldiers, the kinds that you’d find in a street gang, aside from the one. It gave me a bad feeling.”

“The one?” Genji tilts his head

“Sniper. Would’ve taken my head off if I hadn’t looked around as a stroke of luck.”

“Perhaps you were both lucky.”

“I don’t know. That shot was timed and positioned in a way that makes me think it wasn’t just a fluke.” Fareeha puts a hand to her ear, and then rubs a thumb against the gold in her hair. “It’s odd.”

“It happens.” Hanzo’s voice interrupts her thoughts. He jerks his head vaguely towards the lip of the cliff. “That idiot down there is an example.”

“Hm, yeah, guess that’s true. Best shot in Deadlock, if he’s to be believed.” Genji perks up. “You recognize McCree?”

“Of course.” Hanzo goes back to looking down and criticizing McCree’s form.

“But the thing that I’m more worried about is how it all supposedly appeared overnight. From what I saw of the structures, that can’t be true.”

Genji points up, vaguely. “The satellites say it’s true.”

“Then the satellites are wrong.”

Genji looks over at Fareeha. “Are you implying that someone out there can manipulate satellite surveillance systems without being detected? That’s a bad portent.” He sits up, and crosses his legs. “I actually wanted to talk about where you think it all came from. That’s why those two are here.” He points as McCree, gasping for breath, clambers over the edge of the cliff. Both he and Hanzo give Genji a dirty look at the same time. Genji does his best to look innocent. “What? You’re our resident illegal weapons trade experts, right?”

McCree makes a fist. “I’m gonna wring your neck, Genji.”

Hanzo kicks him.“I’m the only one allowed to do that.” Genji laughs. Fareeha gives him an incredulous look.

“Don’t worry McCree, you still won.” Genji holds up a folded bill. “Come sit down a little bit in the shade, and have a chat in the meantime!”

Grumbling McCree pulls himself all the way over the edge, drags himself into the shade, and collapses. “I’m gonna leave the climbin’ to you.”

“Sure.” Genji looks up at Hanzo and pats the spot next to him. Hanzo sits down further away.

“So, you said fusion powered sentry turrets?” Genji tilts his head first and McCree, then Hanzo. “What do you make of that?”

“Deadlock usually doesn’t move things that big.” McCree sits up and produces a cigar. “An’ even if they did, my job was mostly to just shoot anyone pokin’ around where they shouldn’t be.” He lights the cigar, and takes a long draw.

“It is unlikely Deadlock was involved, especially in Asia. That is too far outside their territory.” Hanzo sighs. “It is closer to Shimada control, but…”

“But they are just a shadow of what they once were. If they are operating outside of Eastern Asia, I would be surprised.” Genji seems rather nonchalant, as opposed to Hanzo’s shadowed face. “So it is as I thought. There is only one other large underground arms dealer in the world.”

A silence falls over the group. McCree shakes his head. “Not lookin’ forward to it.”

Fareeha contemplates the dark, rolling sea. She would like to agree with McCree. But she couldn’t. She truly couldn’t.

“There you are!” A voice interrupts her brooding thoughts. Angela, lab coat billowing behind her, strides towards McCree, arm raises in greeting. “They want you down in the conference room, McCree. It seems they couldn’t pry themselves away from their work to come get you themselves, though.” Angela reaches down, and pulls McCree to his feet.

“Huh. Thanks for lettin’ me know, doc.” McCree scratches his head, shoves his hands in his pockets, and wanders off, whistling.

“And while I’m here…” Angela turns to Genji. “How are you feeling? How are your eyes? Your legs? Any chest pains? Lethargy?”

Genji raises his hands, and laughs. “I am fine, Angela. That all passed a long time ago.”

Angela eyes him. “Somehow I’m not convinced.” She says, dryly.

“You did this to him.” Hanzo’s voice is bitter. His eyes burn with thinly veiled fury. He stands up. “You were the one who—”

“—who saved my life.” Genji stands as well, and stares his brother down.

Hanzo ignores him. “How much do you really know?” His lip curls. “I wonder.” With that, he turns and storms off.

“Hanzo!” Genji reaches out, then looks around. “I’m sorry, Angela.”

“No.” Angela stares after Hanzo, with the most peculiar look in her eye. “Don’t be.” Her gaze suddenly snaps to Genji. “Don’t hesitate to let me know if you feel anything odd.”

“I know, Angela.” He bows, then takes off after his brother. “Hanzo!” Fareeha can hear him calling in the distance.

A breeze kicks up, rippling through the grass, shearing up the rocks. It tousel’s Angela’s hair, pulling it like a pennant around her head. She stands there, watching the departing figures, with her eyes as blue as the sky and coat as white as the sea foam. The words come pouring out of their own accord.

“I’m sorry.” Angela looks over, surprised. Fareeha averts her gaze, and rubs a few blades of grass between her fingers. “I’ve said and done a lot of things that you didn’t deserve. So I’m sorry. For that.” The grass floats away in the breeze.

Angela’s eyes widen, but then she smiles. She nods, an action that Fareeha can just barely see out of the corner of her eye. Angela doesn’t say anything more; she merely leaves. It’s only then that Fareeha looks up, to watch her go.

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Ziegler isn’t babysitting tonight?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow, and leans her elbows on the couch. The smell of food still lingers in the air from dinner. Hana takes a moment to scowl at Fareeha, but doesn’t dignify the comment with a verbal response. Fareeha sticks her tongue out and grins.

“Aw nah, she’s in the medbay workin’ on something. You uh… probably shouldn’t bother her. Awfully worked up.” McCree points at a bright green band-aid on his face. “I would know.”

“Worked up? And why would that be?” Fareeha eyes McCree out of the corner of her eye.

McCree raises his hands. “It was Genji’s idea.”

“Sure it was.”

Lúcio looks around. “Wait, is that—?” His eyes widen in wonder. “Angela uses Lúcio brand band-aids?”

Hana pauses the game and whips around. “Oh my god, you have band-aids? Seriously?” She taps her headgear. “Hey stream, check this out! That’s adorable!”

McCree scowls. “Are you even allowed to do that?”

Hana grins. “Yep! The commons and my room are fair game! Cleared it with Winston a few days ago.”

“Yeesh.” McCree rubs the back of his neck. “Hey, are you still recording? Turn that off!” He lunges forward. Hana, snickering, dodges out of the way.

“But seriously, what did you do?” Fareeha grabs McCree by the wrist. He paws hopelessly at Hana, dancing around just outside of his reach.

“Well I got a papercut so I walked down because it hurt and ran into Genji on the way and he said somethin’ like ‘McCree! I just discovered the English proverb of an apple a day keeping the doctor away!’ And I was a little confused because what did that have to do with me an’ all—hey, are you still recording this? Turn that off!” He points at Hana who sticks her tongue out but reaches up and turns off the camera. “So then Genji pulls out an apple right and he says ‘are you going to the medbay? Let me come with you!’ And I had no idea where he was going with this so I said ‘alright’ and let him tag along. Well anyways we’re in the medbay right? But Angela’s not there so we’re just waiting around and then Genji says ‘you know those movies where the sharpshooter shoots an apple off of someone’s head?’ And I said ‘yeah’ because of course I did I’m an expert on that kind of thing.” McCree pauses for breath. “An’ then he puts the apple on his head and says ‘you’re a sharpshooter, right? Try it!’ And I’m kinda doubtful but I’d also never actually done that trick before and I did want to try so I get my gun out and take aim and at that moment Angela walks in. She looks at me an’ Genji, and without batting an eye, she says ‘if you pull that trigger I will shoot you.’ So I holster my gun but by that time Genji’s gone and left me alone. Angela just stuck a band-aid on me, called me an idiot, and kicked me out of the medbay.” McCree coughs, awkwardly.

“Wow.” Fareeha says, in a marveling tone. “You really are an idiot.” McCree just shrugs.

“McCree!” Genji pokes his head through the window and looks around suspiciously. “I got some!” He holds up a plastic bag. Fareeha recognizes it as from one of the closer grocery stores. He climbs through the window, dashes over, and holds out the bag. “You should deliver it!”

“What?” McCree shakes his head. “I paid for it!”

“I ran all the way there and back to get it!” Genji holds it out insistently.

“What are you two on about?” Fareeha looks back and forth between them. They both ppl at her.

“It’s an apology gift. For Angela.” McCree takes the bag, and pulls out a box of chocolates. “You could deliver it for us!”

“You know, it’s be a lot more sincere if you both delivered it yourselves.” They simultaneously shake their heads. Fareeha raises her eyebrows. “Are you seriously afraid she’d shoot you?”

“Probably not, but she _would_ kick our asses.” McCree holds out the box. “Please?” Fareeha rolls her eyes, but takes the box.

“Yes! Thank you!” Genji triumphantly high fives McCree. “We owe you one!” Fareeha snorts, and shakes her head.

The halls are dim, with the barest hint of a sunset glow filtering through the windows. Fareeha pauses outside the medbay door to bask in the warm orange light for just a few moments. She takes a few steps forward, and the medbay door opens with a _whoosh._

Angela, who had been leaning over a counter, whips around. “What—oh, good evening, Fareeha. What can I do for you?” She rubs her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“Genji and McCree?”

Angela pauses, and looks up. “Yes, actually. How did you..?”

Fareeha gestures vaguely over her shoulder. “I was just talking to them in the commons. They actually asked me to deliver this.” She holds out the box of chocolates. “As an apology.”

Angela huffs. “But they didn’t come themselves?” Still, she strides over and takes the box. “Hmm. At least it’s Swiss this time.” She opens it, to reveal several small, pretty chocolates.

“This time?” Fareeha gives Angela a quizzical look.

Angela snorts. “Oh, Genji’s done this before. He quits Overwatch and runs off, and I don’t hear from him for _years_ and then one day I get a letter talking about what he’s been up to and how he’s met Zenyatta and at the end he asks if I’m okay. Then he sends me a box of chocolates with another letter because he felt bad about when we first met and he was so angry and rude all the time.” She rolls her eyes. “Imagine, buying chocolate to apologize for something that happened over a decade ago. That man’s a mess through and through; don’t let him fool you into believing otherwise.” She holds out a chocolate. “Want one?”

“Oh, no, thank you.” Fareeha holds up a hand. She hesitates. “You like Swiss chocolate?”

Angela stops eating, and eyes Fareeha. “You don’t?”

“Chocolate is chocolate, really. I don’t care what kind it is.” Fareeha shrugs. Angela lets out an accepting grunt and picks up another piece of chocolate. Fareeha stares. “That’s… a lot. Are you alright?”

“Are you judging my eating habits?” Angela jabs an accusatory index finger towards Fareeha’s chest. “That’s my job, not yours.”

“My job is to protect people. I think protecting them from themselves still counts.”

“Hey, who has the medical license here? Not you.”

Fareeha raises her hands in mock defeat. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m almost certain that’s not healthy for you.”

“I’m a doctor, and I’m absolutely certain that I do what I want.”

“When’s the last time you slept, Dr. Ziegler?”

“Soon. Recently. Enough.” Angela shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Fareeha nods, politely, and turns. It’s only when she’s halfway out the door that Angela says anything.

“I’ve been thinking.” Fareeha looks back. There’s a shadow thrown across her face. Her eyes look dark, and sad. “There’s just a lot on my mind. That’s all.”

“I’m sure Zenyatta…” Fareeha trails off at the look on Angela’s face.

“You haven’t heard? Lena had a suspicion, so to speak, so she got Athena to run a comparison of the bullet we retrieved with certain files, and, well… it’s almost exactly the same as the one retrieved from Tekhartha Mondatta.” Angela taps a few fingers on the counter. “Zenyatta doesn’t seem like the type to get mired in grief, but I don’t want to put anything more on his shoulders.”

Fareeha’s eyes widen, and suddenly it feels like she’s been punched in the stomach. She hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t noticed that Zenyatta had been nowhere to be found all day. She had been a blind fool. An absolute—

“He will be alright.” Angela’s soft voice interrupts Fareeha’s thoughts. Fareeha looks at her, wide eyed, and then at the floor. Angela looks out the window, and watches the last rays of the sun disappear. She sighs. “You’re right, though. I should sleep.” She puts the lid back over the box of chocolates.

“Mm.” Fareeha turns back towards the door, shoulders slightly hunched. “… Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "mi amiga" means "my friend"
> 
> I've held off on adding more character tags for now until they show up more significantly, but let me know if y'all think I should change that.


	14. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The watchpoint gets quieter and quieter, as things get busy. An opportunity for bonding moments, perhaps?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, the event really took my attention away for the last few weeks x_x But! I'm going somewhere with this I swear! Back to something less fluff-y next time!

“I’m going to KILL HER!”

“Who’s killing who now?” Angela appears, bleary eyed, in the doorway, sipping something from a paper cup.

“Does that word just summon you?” Fareeha grins. “That was fast.”

“Nevermind that.” Angela points at Lena, storming around in circles and practically tearing her hair out. “What happened?”

“The b—” Lena begins to reply, but is abruptly cut off by Fareeha.

“They did more analysis on that bullet, and it turns out it and the one that Mondatta was shot with are not only nearly identical, but somewhat unique.” She says. “It’s not surprising, now that I think about it. Whoever shot it clearly doesn’t have to worry about military standards and restrictions.”

Sitting at the counter, a redhead wrapped in a striped turquoise scarf leans forward. “What do you mean by that?”

“What I mean is that occasionally civilian—recreational snipers, that is, often customize their ammunition for more precise control over it, but those employed by a government, such as in a military, don’t to avoid potentially violating laws.” As Fareeha speaks, Angela gives Emily a small wave in greeting. Emily flashes a smile and waves back.

“Which means that little, French, blue…. _tosser_ ,” Lena throws her hands up in the air and then balls them up into fists. “Tried to —argh!” Her hands go back to her hair. “ _Adieu chérie._ ” Lena’s voice takes on a mocking tone. “ _Such a sweet, foolish girl. Heh heh hyeh_ .” She kicks the air. “In and out of London airspace with a massive carrier and no one stopped them! And all I could do was _watch_!”

“That must rankle.” Angela sips her drink thoughtfully. “But they surely tried their best. There’s nothing we can do about it now, anyways.”

“I know.” Lena suddenly sits down, and sighs. “That’s the part I hate the most.”

“I know.” Angela turns to Emily. “Anyways, what brings you to the watchpoint, Emily? It’s been a while!”

Emily smiles, and shrugs. “Oh, well, I’ve got a break and I wanted to come visit, honestly. It’s been too long since we last saw each other face to face.” She nods at Lena.

“By the way, Angela, what have you got there?” Fareeha nods vaguely at Angela’s hands.

“Coffee.” Angela takes another sip.

Fareeha sits bolt upright. “You’re drinking coffee… from a paper cup? Don’t tell me it’s hot.”

“It is.” Angela shrugs. Fareeha looks mortified.

“What happened to your mug?”

“I lost it somewhere.”

“What about the communal cups?”

“Oh, well, whoever was supposed to do the dishes didn’t do them last night.” Angela shrugs again.

“You guys are really taking this whole sniper thing quite well.” Emily tilts her head.

“It’s good practice to save all of that… tension for the actual confrontation.” Angela takes another sip of coffee. “Also, personally, I’m not really awake yet.”

Fareeha nods vaguely. “I’m mad, but I’m channeling that towards thinking for now.”

“When did you get here?” Angela brushes a tuft of hair out of her face and eyes Emily curiously. “I didn’t see you around last night.”

“Oh, it was late last night.”

“Was it early enough to spend some quality time with Lena?” Genji walks through the door.

Lena looks up and makes a pair of finger guns. “You know it!” Emily snorts.

“You know, that implies something else entirely…”

“Hey, Genji what’s—oooo who’s this?” Hana pokes her head through the door.

In a flash, Lena’s on her feet and at Emily’s side. “This is Em!”

“Oh, you’re Emily?” Hana beams. “I was wondering when I’d get to meet you! Name’s D.Va.”

“Hana.” Angela interjects.

“Hey anyways, Genji, do you know what’s up with the mess hall door? I can’t get it open.” Hana jerks a thumb over her shoulder.

“Why would I know that?” Genji cocks his head.

“I dunno, you just seem like the kind of person to be involved in something like that.”

Genji’s shoulders droop. He looks mildly offended. “What… gave you that impression?”

“The door was just fine when I was in there.” Angela interrupts before Hana can reply. “Are you sure there’s something wrong with it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Hana leans back and looks down the hall. “I’m sure.”

Angela walks over to the door and looks as well, in the direction of the mess hall. She whistles. “What is that?”

“That’s what I’m asking you!” Neither Hana nor Angela turn around.

Curiously, Lena wanders over and pokes her head into the hall as well. “Wow, that’s new.”

Genji, Fareeha, and Emily are close behind. The door to the mess hall was ajar, and the doorway itself glowed light blue. Fareeha pushes her way out the door and approaches it for a closer look. Belatedly, the rest of the group trail after her.

A translucent, glowing blue array of hexagons blocks the entire doorway. They look almost like glass, and when Fareeha taps them, they ripple. She presses her face against the barrier and peers inside. Hana, Genji, and Lena follow suit. To fit all of their faces in, they press against each other, propping themselves up on the barrier—which is why all four topple into a sprawling mess when the barrier suddenly dissipates.

Satya Vaswani steps back and sniffs in derision at the pile of people at her feet. As Angela watches, lingering blue particles recede into her open palm. The other hand holds a curious, three pronged object. That, too, glows briefly then falls inert. Angela inclines her head.

“Good morning, Satya.”

Satya nods in return. “Good morning, Dr. Ziegler.” She casts a glance over the four that were now gingerly sitting up on the floor. “What, perhaps, were they doing?”

“We were curious about the barrier on the door.” Angela gestures vaguely at the door frame. “Your doing, I presume?”

“Of course.” Satya looks over her shoulder at a pristine mess hall and kitchen. “All one has to do is put the dishes in the machine and turn it on, and yet someone failed to do even that.” She shakes her head in disgust. “Baffling. Were it not for the training range records I would have serious doubts regarding the competence of some of the agents here.” With that, she steps over the people still on the floor, and strides briskly away down the hall.

Hana sits up, rubbing her head. “Did she seriously have to block off the door just to clean?”

“Admittedly, this is most impressive.” Angela reaches down and helps Fareeha to her feet. “I was in here less than an hour ago, and now it’s spotless.”

“Whatever. I can get my cereal!” Hana leaps to her feet, and darts across the room to the fridge.

“Too bad all that cleaning is going to be undone by noon.” Fareeha remarks dryly, watching Hana enthusiastically pour a heaping bowl of Lucio-ohs. Her eyes track the progress of cereal into the bowl, and, occasionally, onto the floor.

Angela follows her gaze. “By the way, is training still halted for now?”

“Hm?” Fareeha snaps out of a sort of cereal watching reverie. “Oh, yeah. I need a bit more time to think about some things. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” Angela shrugs. “There’s always something to do around here.” She throws her head back and downs the last of her coffee, before tossing the cup in a nearby trash can. “See you later, then.”

“Bye Angela!” Emily and Lena wave. Fareeha just inclines her head a little in acknowledgement, the gold in her hair briefly catching the morning light and twinkling in the sun.

 

* * *

 

Angela found someone in the lab, much to her surprise. A cool breeze sweeps her coat back lightly as the door slides open. To the left, in her usual corner, Mei sits hunched over something, staring at it intently. She looks up as she hears the door open and smiles. “Hello, Dr. Ziegler!”

“Mei, you’re here too?” Angela says, as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. “Welcome back.”

“Oh, yes, I arrived about when Emily did. She’s a very nice woman.” Somewhere in the back, a series of whirs and chirps sounds out. Snowball appears, dashing through the door of one of the storage rooms. Mei wags a finger disapprovingly at the little robot. “Snowball! Be careful!”

“You haven’t met Emily before have you?” Angela picks up a clipboard, and flips a few pages.

“Oh, no, but I’m glad to finally talk to her! I’ve heard so much from Trace-Lena, that is. But enough about me, how have you been, Dr. Ziegler?” Mei puts her pen down and looks up, giving Angela her full attention.

“Me? I’m just glad to have a good chunk of time to work today. Haven’t really had an opportunity to be in the lab recently. It’s been busy.” Angela looks over her notes, then flips another page. She taps her lips with her pen, thoughtfully.

“Oh, do you mean the Russia situation? I heard about that.”

Angela nods, absentmindedly. “It was a quick mission, and relatively smooth.” She sighs. “As smooth as firefights can get, anyways.”

“Oh, sounds scary.” Mei shivers. “Still, I would have liked to come, if only to take a look at the climate. It is very far from Antarctica, but close to the Arctic, and then there’s the omnium…” Mei shakes her head. “It would have been interesting, I think. Oh well, I can always go there later.”

“Be careful out there, Mei.” Angela suddenly looks up, solemn. “Never be afraid to call if you need help.”

“I know, Dr. Ziegler. Thank you.” Mei nods, shyly, and turns back to her work. Angela watches her back for a moment, then goes back to reading over her notes.

 

* * *

 

The hangar is dark and cool, as always. Landing strips flash in dim pulses, and high above dusty white lights struggle through the gloom. Fareeha passes under the shadow of a shuttle’s wing as she crosses to her little corner of the vast space.

 _Tap. Tap._ A hollow, tinny sound rings out. Fareeha raises a hand in greeting. “Good afternoon, Brigitte.”

Something shuffles around in the dark, and the lights brighten. Fareeha can see Brigitte standing by the wall, one finger on a dimmer. She smiles, sheepishly. “Is it afternoon already?”

Fareeha checks her watch. “4:28.”

“Time flies huh?” Brigitte wipes a sheen in sweat off of her brow. She sits back down, and picks up… something. The small metal package is roughly square, and appears to be quite elaborate.

“What were you doing, in the dark?” Fareeha approaches, eyes fixed curiously on the object. “That doesn’t seem safe.”

“Oh, well, uh.” The tips of Brigitte’s ears flush. “I forgot. To turn up the lights.” Fareeha’s eyebrows raise. Brigitte looks askance.

“Man, aren’t you supposed to like, specialize in safety and stuff?” Hana pipes up from across the way, where she’d been sitting in the crook of her mech’s guns.

“First priority is protecting other people.” Brigitte taps the mechanism in her hands, and it expands into a glowing blue shield.

Fareeha snorts. “You’re almost as bad as Dr. Ziegler.”

“Really?” Brigitte lifts the shield, tilts it around, and then deactivates it. “Maybe she rubbed off on me?”

“Are you two friends?” Fareeha blinks in surprise.

“Well, yeah. Reinhardt’s great, but he doesn’t know how to set broken bones, you know? She used to try to visit when she could, but later work got in the way, and…” Brigitte sighs, and shakes her head. “She was always a family friend you know? Used to come spend the holidays with us if she could.”

“Huh.” Fareeha says. It’s all that comes to mind.

“Oh yeah!” Brigitte snaps her gaze up to Fareeha, then over to the Raptora suit. “I think I could make that a bit more efficient in terms of both fuel and shock absorption, but it might take some time. Do you mind if I fiddle with your suit?”

“Hm?” Fareeha blinks. “Oh, yeah. Go ahead. You’ve got good timing anyways, flight training’s been suspended for a while anyways.”

“Does that mean I get the airspace all to myself all day?” Hana appears again, this time from inside her mech’s cockpit.

Fareeha crosses her arms. “You can’t really fly.”

“Can too!” As if intending to prove it, the windshield of the mech lights up pale green, and the mech hops up onto its feet.

“Not for very long.” Fareeha grins, and sticks out her tongue. “I can stay in the sky indefinitely _and_ I’ve got the bigger rockets. I win.”

“Yours doesn’t explode.” The mech sits back down, cross legged now. “Mine has a cup holder, a snack compartment, and it can run video games and livestream! I definitely win.”

Brigitte snorts. “Your mechanics must love you.” She nods vaguely at the mech. “Is that a custom paint job?”

“Yeah!” One of the mech’s guns gestures at the fins on top. “I can get these custom made too! It’s wild. Have you seen my B.Va mech?” A little projector on the mech lights up, and projects an image on the floor. It’s a MEKA mech, but yellow and black with rings resembling bee wings. Next to it is a picture of a plush bunny wearing a bee hoodie.

“Oh that’s so cute!” Brigitte says, fawning over the plushie.

“I know!” Hana chirps, but before she can launch into a full presentation of all of her merch, a little message blips onto the windshield. “Aw, really? I need to go check my feed.” The projection disappears, and in moments the windshield is lit up, words scrolling by at an incredible pace. There are a lot of emoticons, hearts and bunnies in particular.

“That phrase keeps popping up.” Brigitte tilts her head, and squints at the screen. “What does it mean? The one that just went by, before the heart. There it is again.” She points, but the screen’s already changed.

“Hm?” Hana stops briefly. “Oh, you mean that?” She projects the words onto the floor, and the mech gestures at the characters. Brigitte nods. “Hwa-i-ting! It means good luck!”

Both Brigitte and Fareeha stare at Hana blankly. Fareeha is the one to ask. “For… what?”

Hana huffs. “Have you guys been living under a rock? I’m going on a mission to China tomorrow With Zen. We’re looking into reports of rogue omnics and keeping an eye out for… you know. The sea’s been a bit rough lately too. It’s probably nothing, but they want me near Korea at least just in case.”

“Huh.” Brigitte says. “I’d heard that things were gonna get busy around here in the next few weeks, but I never knew the exact details.”

“Three more missions are going out in that time.” Fareeha notes, suddenly relieved that she knew this at least. “Genji, McCree, and Lena are all going to run some recon, if I remember correctly.”

“Hanzo’s going with Genji.” D.Va adds in.

“Hanzo’s going with—” Fareeha blinks, surprised. “What?”

“Yeah, Winston had a _long_ argument with Satya about it. She gave up when Zenny vouched for him though. Can’t really argue with him when it comes to judging character.” The mech hops to its feet. “Anyways, I’m gonna go take a flight or two. See you both later!” With that, the mech waves and stomps off. Fareeha squints as the massive bay doors open, revealing an early evening sky.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, the watchpoint is even emptier than anticipated. Lena’s short missions and Winston’s negotiations have proved fruitful, but as a result more work is needed to be done than ever. Lena drops in every other week or so with a new report, and departs again by the next day. The Shimada brothers are still at work across the sea, as is McCree. Refugee omnics keep Hana and Zenyatta so busy that they rarely have time to talk. Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Brigitte are sent off to Russia, to assist the military in its endeavors against the omnium and the soldiers it keeps producing. Mei goes with them, to conduct some more research. With them gone, the only ones left are Lúcio, Fareeha, Angela, Satya, Winston, and Bastion. Satya keeps to herself, seeming to prefer Athena’s company. Winston stays locked up in the control center, overseeing all the missions, and trying to keep up with the flood of work that he is now responsible for. And so, the complex is quiet, almost eerily so.

“Hold this.” The moment Fareeha steps into the medbay, a spool of thread is shoved into her hands. “And let the door close!”

“What?” Fareeha steps further inside, and the door shuts with a _whoosh_ behind her. “What are you—”

“Cats.” Angela says, eyes not leaving her work. She pulls a pin out from between her teeth and pushes it through a panel of fabric. Fareeha surveys the mannequin set up in front of her. She didn’t see anything relating to a cat. Angela looks up, catching her confused gaze. “Brigitte’s cat. Cats? I’m not sure how many she actually has.”

“I think they’re all hers in all but legal status.” Fareeha studies the mannequin again. It currently was outfitted with some sort of witch costume.

“I suppose you’re right.” Angela’s hands are fast, looping neat stitches together. “I’ve been charged with feeding them while they’re away, but that means the hair’s getting all over my room.” She pulls, and the fabric comes together, rendering the stitches invisible in the seam.

“You’re good at this.” Fareeha turns the spool, freeing some more thread.

Angela stops, and looks Fareeha in the eye. “Fareeha, I’m a surgeon.” Fareeha blushes darkly, and shuffles her feet. She mumbles something before clearing her throat and looking askance. Angela, for her part, just smiles and gives her an understanding look.

“Right, um, what is this anyways?” Fareeha nods vaguely at the mannequin.

“Hm?” Angela pauses in the middle of pinning two more sections together. “Oh, it’s an old… Halloween costume.” Her cheeks redden a little. “I thought I might patch it up. For fun.”

“Oh. It looks good.” Fareeha says. Angela dips her head in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything. Fareeha casts her gaze around, trying not to look too much like she’s avoiding eye contact. The silence stretches out.

“Oh!” Angela suddenly straightens up. “You came here for a reason, right? What did you need? Are you hurt?” She turns to Fareeha, hands already reaching out. Fareeha eyes the needle still clutched in her fingers rather nervously.

“Actually, I was looking for you, and you weren’t in your office so…” Fareeha trails off. “Anyways, Lúcio says he wants to throw a party. With Bastion. Since they seemed lonely. Bastion said to invite everyone.”

“Lúcio can understand Bastion?” Angela asks, wide-eyed.

“I have no idea.” Fareeha shrugs. “But he says he’s busy preparing so I get to run around and tell everyone. Not looking forward to talking to Satya about it.”

“Oof.” Angela says, pityingly. “You know she’s almost definitely not going to come, right?”

Fareeha shrugs. “But are you going to tell that to Bastion?”

“Fair.” Angela says. Then, she puts down her needle and gently takes the spool from Fareeha’s hands, setting that down as well. “Need any emotional support?”

“Oh!” Fareeha’s suddenly empty hands fall limply to her sides. “Yes. That would be nice.”

Angela claps her hands together, and casts one last look over her handiwork. “Great! Athena, do you know where Satya is?”

“Certainly. However, I do not believe she would like to be intruded upon there.” Athena’s voice is cool, and smooth, as always. “I can ask her to meet you somewhere, if you would like.”

“Yes, please. Maybe…” Angela falters, and glances at Fareeha.

“The eastern stairwell, maybe? It’s quiet, and has a nice view when the windows are open.” Fareeha suggests. Angela brightens, quiet relief spreading across her face.

“Very well.”

“Thank you!” Angela waves at the nearest security camera, then marches out the door. Fareeha, somewhat bemused, follows after.

The walk to the stairwell is short and quiet, aside from the sound of footsteps. The bright noonday sun shining though the windows catches on motes of dust in the air—it’s been just a little too long since anybody’s passed by. It feels vaguely surreal.

As Fareeha had hoped, the windows were indeed open in the eastern stairwell, allowing a perfect view of the ocean. Someone had come by and put a potted plant on the landing, sprucing up the otherwise plain metal floor. Fareeha leans against the window, watching the waves crash rhymically into the rocky cliffs. Flecks of foam fly up almost over the lip of the watchpoint’s outcrop. Angela, on the other hand, busies herself with watching the gulls circle and glide over the water.

They are both shaken out of their reveries by the distinct click of heels on metal ascending the stairs. Satya climbs with surprising speed, for a woman in heels, and manages to maintain a stately look. When she reaches the landing, she gives a curt nod in greeting, and holds out a cat. Fareeha recognizes it as the fat white one from the hangar.

“I found this in one of the trash cans.” Satya’s nose wrinkles ever so slightly as she speaks. She holds it out more insistently towards Angela. “I believe it’s your responsibility.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Angela takes the cat, gathering it in her arms. “Thanks for coming, we just wanted to quickly say something.” She gives Fareeha an encouraging look.

“You know Bastion?” Fareeha winces. Not the most eloquent start.

“The SST Laboratories Siege Automaton E54 that resides in a garden outside. Yes, I know of it. I am obligated to keep a close eye on it.” Angela sighs, remembering the argument that she was forced to navigate regarding Bastion back when she was trying to get Overwatch legalized. It had been a headache and a half.

“It… wants to throw a party. We’re throwing it a party.” Fareeha scratches the back of her neck.

Satya raises one eyebrow. “You’re throwing a party for a combat automaton.”

“Well…” Fareeha shifts her feet and looks around. “I’m only letting people know, really. The one that’s actually putting it together is… Lúcio.” The moment his name leaves her lips, Satya’s face changes subtly. Her brow furrows slightly, her lip curls, her jaw tightens.

“We know you don’t like each other.” Angela cuts in before Satya can deliver an undoubtedly scathing reply. “But in the interest of team dynamics it would be good for everyone to be there. You _are_ teammates, like it or not, and it’s in everyone’s best interests if you can at least cooperate when you need to.”

“I know how to cooperate when I want to. But I won’t do it until I have to.” Satya replies, flatly.

“Getting to know others allows you to understand how they work and what they can do. It is useful to spend some time together with your team if you want to work smoothly together.” Fareeha steps in this time. “Additionally, an atmosphere of mutual trust must be created. It is critical in moments of high pressure.” A memory tugs at the back of Fareeha’s mind—Captain Khalil, and the sound of gunfire. She shakes her head, slightly, and the memory fades. Angela gives her a concerned look.

Satya frowns and is silent for several minutes. “I’ll think about it.” She says, curtly, and then turns, disappearing down the stairs as quickly as she came.

“Thank you!” Angela calls after her. She waves too, though Satya probably can’t see.

Fareeha sighs, and raises a hand to her face. “That went about as well as expected.”

“Did it? I was expecting her to just say no.” Angela pats the cat in her arms lightly.

“She’s probably not going to come.”

Angela shrugs. “That’s beyond our control now. We did our best.”

“I guess.” Fareeha sighs, again. “Well, I’m off to wait around outside the control center to se did I can catch Winston. Thank you. I’ll let you get back to your sewing.”

Angela smiles, brightly. “No problem, Fareeha.” She looks down at the cat, and then sets it down lightly on the floor. It meows, and then darts off. “I’ll see you…”

“Lúcio said you’ll know.” Fareeha says. “Which is a bit worrying, now that I think about it.”

Angela shakes her head. “I should have known. Well, see you later then.” She nods, and then walks off, disappearing around the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

Fareeha watches her go, and lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. She rolls her shoulders, throws one last look at the sea, and then wanders off, feet vaguely guiding her towards the control center.

As always, Fareeha arrives to find the door firmly shut. The seams are dark, and no sound drifts through any of the cracks. Still, the light near the handle is blue. It’s unlocked, meaning Winston is most certainly inside. Fareeha leans against the wall, procures a book, and waits. She’d hate to barge in on something important.

It’s afternoon, nearing evening when Fareeha finally hears the door move. Winston pokes his head out into the hall, and then jumps a little when he noticed Fareeha. “Oh!” He adjusts his glasses. “Er, hello Fareeha. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes, but it’s not important. Don’t worry.” Fareeha closes the book and tucks it away in her pocket. “Lúcio’s throwing a little party for Bastion and wants to invite everyone in the watchpoint.”

“That’s not very many.”

“No.”

At that moment, the intercoms crackle to life. “Whoo! It works!” Winston raises his eyebrows at the sound of Lúcio’s voice streaming through the watchpoint. “Hey hey! I’ll see you all down in the commons, alright?” In the background, Bastion can be heard beeping and whistling before the broadcast cuts off.

“... Athena?” Winston frowns.

“Yes?”

“Is he supposed to be able to do that?”

“He asked and I thought it was harmless enough. No one hacked the systems, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.” Winston sighs. “That’s… please just check with me before you make decisions like that in the future?”

“Of course.”

Fareeha straightens up, and turns her feet towards the commons. She looks over her shoulder at Winston. “Coming?”

“I… Sure.” Winston steps fully out of the door, locking it behind him. “I guess I need to take a break anyways.”

Angela is the first to get there, aside from Bastion and Lúcio who were presumably there from the beginning. Bastion had taken a pillow off of the couch, and was sitting on it, occasionally poking it curiously. At Angela’s arrival, they look up and wave, fingers moving up and down with a sort of regimented motion. On the counter, Ganymede is busy picking at a bowl of birdseed, with Lúcio standing watch.

Much to everyone’s surprise, the second to arrive is neither Fareeha nor Winston. Satya steps through the door, exchanges a disgusted look with Lúcio, then sits herself in the far corner. Bastion tracks her progress, beeping curiously. They shyly wave to her as well. Satya doesn’t appear to notice.

“Oh, Ms. Vaswani!” Winston hurried to her side almost as soon as he steps through the door, surprise etched clearly on his face. “What a pleasant surprise!”

Satya inclines her head. “You as well, Winston. How have your projects been going?”

“Oh, well I haven’t had as much time to work on them as I would like, but…” Winston leans closer and his voice lowers to a barely audible murmur.

“That worked out.” Angela jumps, and looks over her shoulder, almost head butting Fareeha in the face. Fareeha raises her hands apologetically.

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. I… I’m tired.” Angela rubs her head.

“You say that a lot.” Fareeha notes dryly. “Do you ever take your own advice?”

“Hmm?” Angela blinks slowly. “Say again?”

“Nevermind.” Fareeha just makes a mental note to make sure the doctor goes to sleep at a reasonable hour. “Hey, Lúcio, what’s the plan?”

Lúcio holds up a flat, holographic chip. “Movies! Like, documentaries and cartoons and stuff. Bastion doesn’t know what a penguin is, and we’ve got these couches and this really nice big screen, so…” He shrugs, and flips the hologram into the air. It disappears, and the screen lights up. “Plus, I made food, and I got uh… oil? Oil for Bastion so we can just turn down the lights and have a little movie marathon, yeah?”

“Sure.” Angela hops over the back of the couch, plops herself down on the very side, and curls up.

“You’re not eating anything?” Fareeha props her elbows on the back, and looks down at Angela. “That’s not healthy, you know.”

“Shhhhhhhhhut up.” Angela waves a hand vaguely. “Or I’ll be out of a job.” She yawns.

“It’s good food, you know!” Lúcio holds up a plate. “And I got these chocolates! They’re, um… truffles?”

Satya snorts. “It baffles me how you can buy that kind of thing and not know what it actually is.”

“I’m getting something for you.” Fareeha touches Angela lightly on the shoulder, to make sure she heard. Angela grunts and shifts so that she’s propped up more snugly against the couch arm.

Fareeha comes back with two plates of food. Angela eyes them as one is pushed gently into her hands. Cheese, bread, rice, beans, and a wide variety of vegetables and leafy greens. Lúcio has outdone himself. Meanwhile, Fareeha sits next to Angela and fixes her with a hawk-eyed stare until she begins to eat.

Athena find the lights and starts up the first of Lúcio’s selection. 10 minutes of penguin footage later, Angela’s asleep. Fareeha takes Angela’s plate before she shifts and drops it, and sets it on the coffee table. Fareeha briefly considers moving her to her room, but thinks better of it. Angela seems comfortable enough, and she’d hate to wake her up. She instead settles in to enjoy good food and good company for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes, and I've gone back and replaced all foreign languages with a more anglicized version. I realized that it probably breaks the flow to have something that readers most likely can't pronounce. If you're curious about how something is written in the actual language, check the end notes!
> 
> 화이팅 -> Hwa-i-ting


	15. Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are happening at the Watchpoint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very short, less than half of what I usually aim for, but I felt like trying to make it longer would have just resulted in me struggling with a bunch of bland filler. Not that I didn't try, it's just that... it was meh so I just deleted it all and trimmed it down to this. Honestly I've been trying to hit targets in regards to chapter length for a while and I'm really not sure how I feel about it. These'll probably vary a lot more in the future.

“Are you sure?” Fareeha frowns. Saleh’s voice flows through the phone in answer. She can almost hear him nodding.

“Yes ma’am. We’re quite sure, the matter is just catching and restraining him.”

“I see. When do I need to be back, then?” Fareeha hesitates, much more than she would have. Her frown deepens into a scowl at this, silently reprimanding herself. She has never been the kind to shy from duty, and she didn’t intend for that to change.

“As soon as possible. Tomorrow, actually.” Saleh sounds slightly apologetic. To his credit, he seems sorry to push such a tight schedule on his former captain. “You can go argue with high command if you want, but—”

“No, that’s fine.” Fareeha cuts him off. “I’m not busy right now anyways. Send me the details.”

“Aye, captain.”

“Not anymore.” Fareeha ends the call and slips her phone back into her coat pocket.

“You seem upset.” Fareeha whirls, and suddenly finds herself face to face with the doctor, bleary eyed, dressed in an oversized sweater and clutching a steaming mug. “Good morning.” She adds, almost as an afterthought. She sips her drink, and the smell of coffee wafts through the air.

“I’m not upset. Just… surprised.” Fareeha nods at the mug. “You found it?”

“Hm?” Angela looks down, and breaks into a smile. “Oh, yeah. Left it in one of the storage closets down in the lab, apparently. Either that or Snowball put it there. I doubt it though. Snowball’s as malicious as Mei herself is.”

“That’s good.” Fareeha is silent for a moment, eyes downcast, gaze slanting down towards the floor. She seems lost in thought. Abruptly, she speaks. “Helix caught wind of some vigilante action. In Egypt, actually. The one involved is someone we’ve been after for a long time.”

“And yet you’re frowning.” Angela tilts her head.

“Am I?” Fareeha looks down, as if she could somehow see her own mouth and scold it for bending the wrong way. “I just don’t think…” She trails off.

“You don’t think this person should be punished?” Fareeha nods, silently. “Yet it is the law, isn’t it?”

“The law isn’t always just.” Fareeha takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. “I just mean…” She trails off and shakes her head again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to say it.”

“Vigilantes at large can’t be necessarily caught and punished if they violate regulations. I think the worry is that even the most benevolent has little stopping them from becoming much more extreme. Nor can anyone be treated as above the law.” Angela takes another sip of her coffee, thoughtfully. “But nevermind that. Who’s this you’re after? Helix doesn’t usually bother with those kinds of people, do they?”

“No, victims of vigilante justice aren’t usually clients. But this one’s personally caused some trouble for Helix. Honestly they’re more concerned with the fact that he’s gotten away with it than the actual damage caused, which is little. He’s caused little more than minor injuries and stolen some weapons.” Angela suddenly pales. “You’ve heard of the one that broke into Watchpoint: Grand Mesa? The media calls him Soldier: 76.”

Angela’s mug breaks on the floor with a cacophonous crash, shattering into ceramic shards interspersed with hot coffee. She suddenly starts, and blinks down at her empty hands, almost confused. “Ah.” She makes as if the reach down and pick up the shards, but thinks better of it. “I’ll get a broom. Are you alright?” She meets Fareeha’s astonished gaze. “I apologize; I’m just… well, butterfingers, right?” She laughs, shortly, and gingerly backs off towards the nearest cleaning closet.

“Do you need help?” Fareeha extends a hand, then reluctantly drops it as Angela shakes her head.

“No, it’s not that big of a mess, really.” She disappears through a halfway down the hall, and returns shortly with a broom and rag. “Um, anyways, you’re going back to Egypt?”

“Yes. Tomorrow. To try and catch him before he disappears again.” Fareeha pulls out her phone, opens it, and reads something quickly. “I’m leaving early in the morning.”

“Oh, well, good luck then. Make sure you get to bed at a good hour tonight.” Angela’s voice has an anxious sort of edge, something Fareeha’s never heard before.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Fareeha reaches out again, worried.

“I’m fine. It’s just the mug. It was nice to have my own.” Angela brushes away Fareeha’s hand, and goes back to fiercely sweeping up the little pieces of pale cream earthenware off the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I dropped it all on my own.” Angela switches to the rag, and vigorously wipes up all the coffee. She straightens up. “I should go toss the shards and clean these up. Have a good rest of the day.” She turns and hurries off, clutching the rag, broom, and dustpan, leaving Fareeha standing alone, vaguely wondering if she did something wrong.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha saw neither hide nor hair of Angela for the rest of the day until she walked into the mess hall for dinner. Angela doesn’t look up from her spot to greet her. In fact, she doesn’t acknowledge anyone except Winston, with whom she sits, quietly muttering to. Lúcio, seemingly nonplussed by this, raises a hand and waves at Fareeha.

“What are they up to?” Fareeha nods at the scientists as she sits down.

“Lena’s back!” Lúcio shovels a spoonful of food into his mouth.

“Really? They don’t seem too happy though.”

“She’s not well for some reason or other, I think.” Lúcio shrugs. “Lena herself seems to think she’s fine.”

“She is.” Angela, overhearing, looks up. “It’s just a little cold, but…” She eyes darken, and she shakes her head. She turns and says something to Winston, then gets up and heads for the door. Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

Seeing her expression, Winston clarifies. “Lena’s not prone to illness, to say the least. All of her temporal shifts make it almost impossible, actually. It’s probably just because she’s been sitting still for considerable amounts of time while piloting the jet, but Angela wants to make sure. I, for one, would like to triple check that the accelerator isn’t malfunctioning.” That said, he pulls out a small display, seemingly done with talking for the day.

Lúcio does his best to keep the conversation afloat, and he is somewhat successful, but in the end both Winston and Fareeha are clearly distracted and the meal closes with an awkward silence. Fareeha waves somewhat apologetically to Lúcio as he leaves.

She briefly considers paying Angela a visit, but dismisses the notion. She’d just get in the way. In the end, Fareeha decides to just try to get to sleep early. She knows she has to get up earlier than usual, but even so, she stays awake, staring at the ceiling. The conversation from that morning keeps looping in her head. Angela’s sudden change in demeanour tugs at her mind. She must have said something. But what did she say? The question still stands when Fareeha finally closes her eyes, and drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

Angela folds her hands in her lap, watching the steady rise and fall of Lena’s chest. On the floor nearby, the chronal accelerator glows, projecting its slowly spinning bands of blue. It reflects as a fuzzy blue dot in the window, its fluorescent light blotting out some of the stars. A thin sliver of a moon presides over it all

 _Beep._ Angela looks expectantly over at Winston, who had seated himself by the accelerator and not budged in the last several hours. He scans the lines of miniscule text on the computer before him, and sighs. His voice is very soft. “There’s a small weakness in it that I hadn’t noticed before. It seems that caused a minor malfunction.”

The tension flows out of Angela’s shoulders. “So it is just the common cold.” She takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. “I want to keep her here for some time, so study how the virus reacts with her condition.”

“She’ll fight you every step of the way, you know.” Winston chuckles despite himself. “Lena sitting still for… what?”

“A week, maybe. Give or take some.” Angela shrugs. “She’ll hardly be sitting still though. I might just make her run through all of the tests again. It’ll keep her quite busy, I should think..”

Winston huffs in agreement, remembering the rigorous procedures when the chronal accelerator was new. They were designed to push it and Lena as far as they would go. After a moment, he shifts and stands up, a hulking, rippling mass in the faint silver light. “Well, we had both better get to sleep before Athena starts scolding us. Good night, Dr. Ziegler.”

Angela inclines her head. “Good night, Winston.” She doesn’t say any more, but Winston can see it in the way her shoulders are set, and the glint in her eyes. She has things to do, and doesn’t intend to leave until they’re done.

Winston looks back as he reaches the door. Angela still sits at Lena’s side. Her face is cloaked in shadow, but Winston can almost feel her thoughtful gaze. She was always thinking and worrying, long into the night. Winston shakes his head. Lena, he could help, but Angela could get lost in time in a much different way.


	16. Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharah's away from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be real with you guys I didn't proofread this. My mental state has been kinda... really rough lately I'm sorry! Also Blizzard hasn't given us any callsigns for Fareeha's team so I've been forced to just use ultra casual comms.

Marble walls and sharp blue glass rise up all around. The air is dry, but cold, and tastes like snow and trees. Fareeha squints up at the fluorescent white sun, and the shining, orange and blue streaked sky. White clouds scuttle across it, pushed by some high flying wind, curving, and disappearing impossibly quickly beyond the horizon. More come to take their place. She steps forward, still squinting into the sky.

 _Thunk._ She blinks, frowns, and looks down. A flowerpot. Little and round, made of red clay, and filled with dark soil. A cluster of little yellow flowers bloom in its center, beaming up at Fareeha. And right behind the pot…

Fareeha wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in the small, dark room. In the next cot over, Mahmud rolls over and eyes her sleepily. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Fareeha rubs her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Bad dreams?”

“You could say that.” Fareeha flexes her fingers, and sighs. “Sorry for waking you up.”

Mahmud snorts. “If you hadn’t, someone else would have.” He rolls back over, leaving Fareeha alone with her thoughts, and a rapidly fading dream.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha frowns down at the map. The building that their target had been tracked to was an old one in the outskirts of Cairo. Many of the streets around it would be heavily crowded, as they hosted a bustling market.The alleys leading to the building were very narrow, so much so that one could jump across from to another. Additionally, the streets would almost certainly be cluttered with boxes, dumpsters, and other items both discarded and lost. No vehicle larger than a bike would be able to get close by way of land. As for by air Fareeha’s gaze travels wearily to the window. Dust and sand swirled thickly in the air, obscuring vision and getting into every nook and cranny. Flying was out of the question.

“So, we’re just about stuck until the khamaseen clears out.” She straightens up with an exasperated sigh. “Well, at least we have time to refine the plan.”

* * *

 

Fareeha steps out of the truck, blinking in the bright sunlight. The storm had left the air uncomfortably dry, in the kind of way that made your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth. A thick film of red-brown dust had settled over everything, and still hangs hazily in the air. She puts her helmet on, and the visor jumps to life, displaying a map in the corner of her vision. “All systems green.” The words are echoed by the rest of the squadron.

Fareeha steps into the shade and leans back against a stack of crates, watching the ground crew disembark. Within moments, her attention shifts. Further into the alley, Tariq waves energetically at Fareeha, and points at something.

“Look at that!” He whispers as Fareeha draws near. An omnic—one of the big round ones that the local merchants liked to hire for security—sits slumped against a wall. Its round lights are dark, and its joints had been caked with grime. “What do you think happened here?”

Fareeha shrugs. “They got caught out in the storm, I suppose. Probably came here trying to find shelter.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t they have anywhere to go?” Tariq brushes his fingers lightly along the omnic’s scratched hull. He taps on the lights. No response.

Fareeha shrugs again. “Who knows? They could have gotten lost or left behind. Maybe there was a fight and allies stopped being allies.” She studies the omnic for a moment longer. They were almost certainly dead. “No use worrying about it now.”

Tariq raps his knuckles on the omnic again, in a last ditch effort to wake it up. “Guess we should report this.”

“We don’t have much time to spare.” Fareeha pauses, and sighs. “Is there a serial number?”

Tariq gingerly rubs some dust off of the omnic’s forehead. “KI-132.”

“Write it down, and let’s go.” Already, the rest of the squadron is disappearing into another alley further to the west. Fareeha turns to follow them.

“Sure.” Tariq notes the number, and trails along, somewhat reluctantly. “But what if someone comes along and tries to scrap them? You know—”

“I’m more worried about the guy with the massive gun.” Fareeha calls over her shoulder.

“But you’re _not_ worried about him!” Fareeha doesn’t respond.

One by one, the squadron melts into the shadows. The tall buildings crowd closely together, blotting out all but the occasional smallest slivers of sunlight. Crates, pots, piles of fabric, and ropes are pushed haphazardly against the walls, while trash—crumpled plastic and paper, sheets of tattered cardboard, and metal cans litter the rest of the ground. Even smaller paths occasionally split off of the alley.

The Raptors pilots take one of these smaller paths after several minutes of walking, splitting off from the rest of the group. Ahead is a small square, with just enough room for them to safely get airborne. Fareeha is second to last up in the air, and she only stays up there for a brief period of time. She hovers, lowering herself carefully, and drops neatly and quietly onto a roof. The others stand back a little to give her room.

Fareeha turns, pointing her helmet to the north, sunlight glinting harshly off of her suit. The little glowing map directs her eyes to where she needs to go. Around her, she can see the rest doing the same thing.

In a loose formation, they rotate around, careful to avoid noisy, prolonged flight if possible. They arrive just after the people on the ground do, blocking off all routes of escape via the roof or upper floors, and locking down the entire sector. Unless someone had figured out how to tunnel under the ground undetected, anyone inside was thoroughly trapped.

The building evidently used to be an old residential one. Even on the roof, Fareeha could see signs of it. A cracked, sun-bleached chair had been propped up against the door into the building, with a few equally cracked pots arrayed around it. Perhaps there used to be something growing in them, though all that was left now was some dry soil and dust.

Fareeha tracks the progress of the sweep with the comms. Choruses of “all clear” mark every room in every floor. Fareeha counts them, silently, until they reach the last room on the top floor. Shortly afterwards, the handle of the door turns and someone steps out onto the roof.

“What the fuck?” The words come out near instantly. The person turns, and looks into the stairwell. They turn again, and look at the Raptora squadron. They raise a hand to their comm. “Target not found.” The building falls silent. Even the ones keeping watch outside look back at the building.

Fareeha frowns. “What do you mean, ‘target not found’? Intel said that he was here just yesterday, didn’t it?”

“There’s… there’s no one here.” The soldier raises their hands, almost apologetically.

“Sweep the area again.” The orders come in loud and clear. The soldier shrugs, and disappears again into the stairwell, door closing behind them.

“Well.” Saleh shakes his head. “What do you make of that?”

“Three possibilities. One. The intelligence was wrong. Two. Coincidentally he left the night before we came in. Three. Someone tipped him off.” Fareeha counts off the options on her fingers. Everyone falls silent. They all know it’s dangerous to treat anything as coincidence, especially in this line of work.

 

* * *

 

“Angela, I’m fine!” As if on queue, Lena coughs. “Mostly!”

Angela folds her arms. “Right.”

“Come _on_ Angie, I wanna go swimming! Or rock climbing or something!” Lena flops dramatically onto the ground. “It’s boring in here!”

“When you say ‘swimming or rock climbing’, I have a feeling you mean ‘swimming _and_ rock climbing’ combined with high diving.” Angela shakes her head and pokes Lena in the chest. “I’m afraid you’re stuck here until you make a full recovery. The data is interesting anyways.”

Lena makes a face, clearly saying that she doesn’t really care about the data. “You said it’s just a common cold, right?”

“Hm?” Angela looks up from her clipboard. “Oh yes. The illness is very ordinary. You, however, are anything but.”

“I agree.” Emily pokes her head into the room. “Hey hun!”

Lena sits up. “Em! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just came to visit.” She nods at Angela and grins. “It didn’t hurt that the doctor here mentioned that you caught something.”

“Angela!” Lena whirls, mouth agape. “You knew she was coming and you _didn’t tell me?_ ”

“That would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” Angela flips the papers on her clipboard and tucks it under her arm. “Keep an eye on her for me, Emily. McCree’s due to be back any minute now, and knowing him, I’ve got… a lot of work ahead of me.”

“Sure thing, Dr. Ziegler.” Emily gives her a tiny wave, then immediately turns around and shoves a thermos and a spoon into Lena’s hands. “I brought soup.”

Angela slips out the door and closes it gently behind her as Lena lets out a gasp of appreciation. Out in the main area of the medbay, an awkward cough greets her. Angela looks up, locking eyes with McCree, who had slipped in and sat himself down sometime within the last half hour.

“McCree.” Angela puts her hands in her hips and frowns, looking him up and down. “What have you been up to this time?”

He chuckles, hesitantly, and scratches his head. “I look like I got lit on fire and run over by a truck, don’t I?”

Angela raises her eyebrows. “You didn’t actually get run over, did you?”

“Eh.” He clears his throat and looks askance. “Only a little?”

Angela’s eyebrows rise even further. “And getting lit on fire..?”

“Well, funny story…” McCree plucks at the edges of his serape, which are noticeably singed. “Uh, anyways, was that Lena in there?”

“Yes.” Angela rolls up her sleeves and crosses to the sink. “She’s sick.”

“Oh. Well how about that? I didn’t know she could get sick.”

“I didn’t either, which is why she’s cooped up in there.” The water is cold, and the soap smells lightly floral. Angela dries her hands on a clean towel, and produces a pair of latex gloves. “As a bonus, she can’t keep giving Winston bananas anymore, so he’s happier.”

“That’s nice.” McCree offers an arm as Angela approaches. She notes the multiple scratches, scrapes, bruises, and cuts with disapproval. “Anything else happen while I was gone?”

“No, not much.” Angela shrugs. “Fareeha’s gone back to Egypt for a bit at Helix’s request, but that’s it.”

“‘Reeha? What for?”

“A manhunt, more or less.” A shadow passes over her face, darkening her eyes almost imperceptibly. McCree cocks his head. A moment later, the shadow passes. Still, she applies the antibacterial cream with a bit more firmness than usual.

After many minutes of long silence, Angela frowns at what appears to be considerable road burn. “How did you even do this? Even you don’t usually get into this much trouble.”

“Seems like the kinda thing that happens whenever I’m in that area of the States. Nice to know I’m still remembered, I guess.” McCree shrugs nonchalantly.

“You mean the southwest?” Angela stops her work, and frowns. “You know better than to go back there. Especially with that hat of yours.”

“How do you figure that, doc?”

“McCree, I have never, ever seen anyone dress quite like you do.”

“You ain’t never seen Deadlock then.” McCree says, cheerfully kicking his feet, spurs jangling. “I blend in real nice, if I do say so myself.”

“You’re telling me the entire gang dresses like they’re in an old American Western movie?”

“Well, half of 'em dress like some sort of punk rock biker gang, but the rest... yeah! Those movies were cool."

“Sure.” Angela snorts, and produces a roll of clean white gauze. “‘Cool.’”

McCree sniffs haughtily. “Well, there’s no accountin’ for taste.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Angela smiles. McCree scowls at her.

 

* * *

 

 _Blip._ Fareeha pulls her phone out of her pocket and opens in, squinting in the sudden brilliant blue light. 8 hours and counting, and there’s still no trace of Soldier: 76. By all accounts he had simply disappeared overnight. Fareeha and the rest of the Raptora pilots had been taking turns flying recon in pairs every hour. Fareeha rubs her tired eyes and frowns at the name that greets her on the screen.

 

[Dr. Ziegler]: Remember to drink water!

 

Fareeha hesitates, and taps out a reply.

 

[Fareeha]: Do you usually do this

[Dr. Ziegler]: Listen

[Dr. Ziegler]: I spent well over a decade caring for thousands of people

[Dr. Ziegler]: And then I spent like half a decade specifically focusing on crisis areas were hundreds needed help.

[Dr. Ziegler]: And now I’ve only got 14 at most to worry about.

[Dr. Ziegler]: You’d think it’s be nice but I just get nervous when things are quiet

[Fareeha]: I see

[Fareeha]: You don’t trust us to take care of ourselves?

[Dr. Ziegler]: One can never be too careful.

[Dr. Ziegler]: Also McCree came back telling me he literally got run over by a truck.

[Fareeha]: Are you kidding me

[Fareeha]: I’m going to fight him when I get back.

[Dr. Ziegler]: By the way, how’s it going?

[Fareeha]: Soldier’s gone and there is neither hide nor hair of him anywhere

[Fareeha]: Administration’s furious. They’re going to make me run missions for months at this rate.

[Dr. Ziegler]: Hope it goes well.

 

Despite herself, Fareeha smiles at the screen. For a moment, the conversation falls still.

 

[Dr. Ziegler]: Water?

[Fareeha]: Yes, I’ve been drinking water.

 

“Oooooooo Pharah’s texting on duty!” Saleh’s voice cuts through the air.

“I’m on break!” Fareeha briefly considers lobbing her phone, but decides against it—she might damage the phone.

“Wow you’re being such a bad role model.” Saleh covers his mouth in mock offense. “You used to be our captain! I can’t believe it!”

“You were willing to risk mortal injury for free lunch.” Fareeha shoots back.

“A reasonable risk for such a reward.” He says. “It was good food.”

“Good food?” Aizad lands on the roof, quite daintily for someone who’s been working for over 8 hours. “Your turn, by the way.” He nods at Fareeha and Saleh, and takes off his helmet, visibly relaxing with the fresher air.

“Anything interesting?” Fareeha asks as she puts her helmet on.

“Nope.” Aizad shrugs. “Would have told you if there was.”

“Can’t wait until they realize we’re not going to find anything and let us go home.” Saleh grumbles. “He could be halfway across the continent by now.”

“Not undetected.” Aizad interjects. “So more like halfway across the country.”

“Stop complaining, you two. It’s our job.” Fareeha hops into the air, jets firing roar. Khalil mumbles something more under his breath, but joins her in the air, and together they strike out into the desert, eyes trained on the landscape below.

Away from the Nile, even in this day and age, the desert is inhospitable. Its ruddy, dry sands are all but lifeless during the blazing heat of the day, and even in the evening, Fareeha sees little more than a lizard or two, scurrying around in the sparse brush. Once she spotted something glimmering on the ground, but upon closer inspection it turned out to be a particularly sparkly rock. One hour comes and goes, and Fareeha and Saleh return to their original point tired, thirsty, and frustrated.

They’re greeted with shaking heads. No one had found anything. In the city, the situation was much the same, last they had heard. Scans of the house revealed no secrets, and the Soldier had left little more than a few scuff marks behind. Orders had come through to expand the search radius and up the patrol time to 3 hours as spokespeople scurry to hush up news of Helix’s latest failure.

Fareeha runs 2 more patrols before she is allowed to lay down and get some sleep. Another squadron flies in to help, and they take turns sleeping and working through the night. Fareeha is awake well before the first grey light of dawn, continuing to search.

* * *

 

“It’s been _2 months_.” Aizad stares vengefully down at the desert, as if he could summon Soldier: 76 through sheer force of will. “Is this even our job anymore?”

“Orders are orders.” Fareeha says, flatly, but privately she can’t help but to agree. Raptora squadrons were supposed to be combat juggernauts, sent in to force a solution when all else had failed. The suits were not built with this sort of job in mind. Her brow furrows in irritation. Aizad glances over, and the look on his face suggests he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“We’re not exactly stealthy.” He points out. “The jets are loud, and this transport’s even louder. If anyone wanted to hide from us, they’d have plenty of time to do it.” Fareeha clenches her jaw and doesn’t reply. He has a very good point.

“Didn’t they pull the other squad from a post all the way in India? They’re just leaving the whole area vulnerable.” Saleh adds on, nodding. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s not my decision.” Fareeha says finally. “Go argue about it with headquarters, if you want.” She checks the time and groans internally. “But for now, we need to fly.”

“I swear, the next time we get a break…” Aizad growls, just loud enough to be heard over the roar of engines. Saleh nods at him before taking off, but doesn’t bother to try speaking.

In the late afternoon, the midday sun fades from unbearable to _mostly_ unbearable. The air still ripples with heat, creating shimmering lines in the distance that never get any closer. Metallic gleams end no being no more than mirages, disappearing when Fareeha draws near. The sand shifts often, blown about by the wind, destroying any traces of passage, and any hopes of getting a good rest on Fareeha and Saleh’s part.

One hour in, Saleh suddenly stops and points. “There.”

Fareeha stops, circles back around, and peers down at where he’s pointing. Below, a pile of gray rocks rise out of the sand, sheltering a small, shaded dip. A few tenacious plants grow at the formation’s base. More importantly, peeking out of the shadows is a glimmer too far away from the horizon to be a mirage. She exchanges a glance with Saleh.

He stays up high, circling, and keeping a close eye out as Fareeha descends in a tight spiral to the ground. She touches down and immediately crouches, looking closely at the metal. She reaches out, brushing away some more sand. Slowly, she straightens up. “It looks like a hatch.

Moments later, Saleh touches down beside her, kicking up a small cloud of dust. He kicks away some more sand, revealing a thick, square shaped metal plate, roughly 1.5 meters in length on each side. Rusty, sand encrusted hinges mark the edge closest to the rocks. A single rough handle protrudes near the opposite side. Fareeha and Saleh stand side by side, looking at it for a long while.

“Wow.” Saleh finally says. “Wonder where it leads?”

“Only one way to find out.” Fareeha switches in her comm. “Pharah reporting, we’ve found some sort of hatch out here. I’m broadcasting the coordinates. Requesting any nearby patrols to meet us at our current position.”

“Roger that.” Aizad’s voice trickles through the comm after a brief moment of radio silence.

Several minutes later, a pair of specks appear on the horizon. They grow rapidly, and suddenly they’re on top of Fareeha and Saleh. Aizad lands in a hurry, skidding through the sand and sending up plumes of dust in his wake. His partner lands more carefully, and spares a moment to give Fareeha a friendly nod before leaning against the rock formation. They seem to be glad to be in the shade.

“We flipped a coin to decide who got to be the lookout.” Aizad explains, nodding to his partner.

“On the wing?” Fareeha frowns.

“Well, yeah.” Aizad says, as if it were obvious. “Anyways, we have to get this open right?”

“Yes. Ready?” Saleh hooks his fingers through the handle, and looks at the other two. They both nod, and he pulls, gasping with exertion. The hinges creak and groan in protest, but eventually yield. With a heavy thump, the hatch falls open, propped up against the rocks. A chill draft of stale air wafts out of the dark opening. Rough stairs lead down into the ground.

The shadows gather thickly at the bottom of the steps, but the remaining light of the early evening scatters them somewhat. It reveals very little, only a concrete room, perhaps a meter or two in length, and a plain metal door. Fareeha gestures with her rocket launcher, and the other two move to either side. She reaches out, grasps the handle, and turns it. She takes a deep breath, and the others ready their weapons.

Fareeha winces at the long, drawn-out creak the door makes as it swings inward. After a moment or two of stillness, she peers inside. Beyond the door is a larger room, dark, and seemingly abandoned. Fuzzy grey shapes sharpen into tables, chairs, and piles of boxes. Broken glass litters the ground. Fareeha takes a few steps into the room, looks around, and then waves for the others to follow her.

“It abandoned.” Aizad says, noting the thick layers of dust gathered on every available surface. “Not again.” He adds, with a note of disgust.

Fareeha switches in her flashlight, and sweeps it over the area. The light lingers on one of the walls. Frames and cracked glass cover it, with a few wires peeking out in the gaps. “Screens.” The light travels down to a tall black box. Fareeha walks over, and lightly wipes off the dust. Ports line one side, but they’re all unmarked. She puts a finger to her ear.

“Tariq?” He was on break, she remembered.

“Yeah?”

“Take a look at this.” Fareeha points the camera in his helmet to the box. “Any ideas on what it is?”

The comms are silent for a while. “That bundle of cords to the side there—what are they attached to?”

Fareeha traces the cords to the wall, sweeping her light once more over the screens. “Screens. A lot of them.”

Tariq whistles. “Uh, wow. Alright, can you get closer to the ports on the console?” After Fareeha obliges, Tariq studies them for a moment. “I’m thinking there’s supposed to be something else attached.” He says, finally.

“Any ideas on what it does?”

“Can’t tell. I’d ask you to take off the back panel, but, uh, no offense, you might damage the whole thing so…”

“None taken. It’s not like I’ve got a screwdriver.” Fareeha sighs. “That’s all, then. We’ll keep looking around.”

“Sure.” With that, Tariq closes his comm with a definite click.

“Is this canned food?” Saleh peers into one of the boxes, and pulls out a can of soup. “What sort of video game nuclear bunker type—I mean, I guess it’s the middle of the desert but…”

“Aaaand there’s no one here.” Aizad, who has just finished moving all the boxes stacked along the back wall, straightens up and sighs. “Of course there isn’t.” He kicks another box, which falls over to reveal bottled water. He looks at it, contemplatively, then bends down and picks up a bottle.

“Don’t drink that.” Fareeha scowls. “You don’t know what’s in it.”

“Why would anyone living in the middle of a desert keep anything _but_ water around in bottles?”

“Why would anyone love in the middle of a desert?” Saleh adds. He shakes the can, and wrinkles his nose at the _glop glop_ sound it produces.

“To go unnoticed. That’s the point of us being out here, isn’t it?” She shakes her head. “I’ll call the transport.”

It takes half an hour for the transport to arrive, at which point nearly every box had been opened to reveal either canned food or bottled water. Other discoveries included a shovel, a can opener, a roll of electrical tape, and a half empty box of paper clips. The soldiers are firmly herded out, and scientists are firmly herded in.

Fareeha sits on the edge of the transport, and watches the moon rise. She’d been reassigned to guarding the site, but she didn’t mind, too much. She could keep an eye out from the relative comfort of the transport, at least. She closes her eyes and enjoys the feeling of cool air on her face.

 

* * *

 

“You alright, Angela?” Emily eyes the mountain of paper cups on Angela’s desk. “You seem kind of… morose.”

Angela heaves a sigh, head in her arms, laying on her desk. “Do I?”

“I mean, yeah.” Emily turns to eye the overflowing trash bin. More paper cups. She sniffs the air. “Is that vodka?”

“Don’t give me that look.” Angela turns her head so that she’s face down. “It’s nasty, by the way. You can taste how cheap it is.”

“Do you need to talk?” Emily folds her arms and leans against the desk. “I’m here to listen, if you want.”

Angela is quiet for a very long time. Emily is beginning to think she’d fallen asleep when she finally says something, so softly that Emily has to lean in to hear her. “I don’t know why, but…” Angela suddenly lifts her head, to look at the moon, shining full and golden over the sea. “I miss her, I guess.”

Emily follows her gaze, watching the light dance on the waves and lap at the beach. “I know the feeling.”

Angela turns, and studies Emily’s face. “You must get lonely.”

Emily shrugs. “I do, but we try our best. We call each other a lot, and make the most of the time we get. Sometimes we mail each other gifts when it’s been too long without physical contact.” Emily snorts. “She once sent me a plush crab because she thought it was cute, but she also filled the box with sequins and glitter. Our flat still sparkles to this day.”

“Sounds nice.” Angela unfolds her arms, stretches, and sighs. “I guess I should clean up.”

“And throw out to vodka?”

“And throw out the vodka.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khamsīn , chamsin, hamsin, or khamaseen is the name for a really hot, dry wind that blows in North Africa, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Mediterranean Basin in the spring/autumn/winter. The winds carry a lot of dust and sand—so much so that it is apparently possible to choke and faint because of it. I'm taking that particular report with a grain of salt though.


	17. Patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting into trouble.

Fareeha knocks lightly on the doorframe, a patient smile playing about her lips.

“Hm?” Angela looks up, and rubs her eyes. “Oh! You’re back! How did it go?”

“We found some random bunker out in the middle of nowhere, but that’s it.” Fareeha sighs. “There wasn’t anything really interesting either.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hm? Oh, don’t be. I’m more upset about working double shifts for 3 months. We were far outside of Helix’s jurisdiction by then if you ask me, but…” She shakes her head and plops a small cardboard box on Angela’s desk. “Anyways, I got you something.”

Angela’s eyes widen, and her hands dart out almost immediately. Inside the box is a ball of brown paper. She unwraps it, revealing a white mug with a red cross and the words “Self Healing” printed on it in blocky black text. Angela holds it up, and grins. “Where did you find this?”

Fareeha shrugs. “Oh, you know, Cairo’s a big city. There are bound to be some video game shops. I… think it was a video game shop at least. I remember how that suit of yours works, so I mean…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. “I still feel bad about the mug.”

“For the last time, it wasn’t your fault!” Angela laughs, though, and nods at the trash can, now only half full of paper cups. “Thank you though. I guess I needed it.”

“Also—” Fareeha begins, but is interrupted by Angela’s phone.

Angela jumps a little, and pulls it out of her pocket. She frowns at what she sees, and spares only a moment to apologize to Fareeha before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Hello, Dr. Ziegler. Might I trouble you for a moment?” Zenyatta’s smooth, humming voice greets her.

“Of course. What do you need?”

“Young Hana has become injured. I am trained in the healing arts, but I would like some advice nonetheless.”

“You don’t have a medic?”

“We do, however we are some ways away from assistance. We are safe, however she is in no shape to pilot her mech, nor can I do it for her.” Zenyatta, as always, sounds vaguely unconcerned about the situation.

“You have shelter, right? Wait a minute.” Angela’s eyebrows knit together. She lowers the phone and covers the transmitter. “Sorry, this might be a long call.”

Fareeha raises one hand. “No, it’s fine. I’ll see you later.”

Angela sits down and opens her files. “Sorry. Continue?”

“That was much less than a minute.” Zenyatta observes. He goes on. “We have taken shelter with some refugees. They are very sorry for what happened, and offered assistance. However, they are civilians—They know little about treating injuries, especially human ones.”

“I… see.” Angela opens Hana’s file. “Can you describe the injuries for me?”

“Certainly. However, would it not be better to show you instead? I can link myself to the Overwatch network, and broadcast what I am seeing to you. Or, your computer, rather.” Zenyatta pauses, thoughtfully. “Unless you can link to the network as well? You are a very extraordinary human.”

“What? Oh, thank you, but uh… let’s call it ‘medical magic’, it doesn’t let me receive video calls.”

“‘Video call’. What a fascinating word for it.” Zenyatta hums, apparently pleases with this new information. “Very well, then I shall ‘video call’ your computer.”

“Or course.” Angela pins the phone between her shoulder and ear, and skims the files, fingers swiftly typing out a new log. Despite her alarmingly self-destructive habits, Hana had somehow managed to stay in good physical shape for just about her entire life. One little note sticks out. Angela already knows what it says. She shakes her head, nearly dropping the phone as a window pops up on her screen.

At first, the screen is dark. Then the camera clacks around a little bit and a light flickers on, washing the scene in a fluorescent blue light. Many bodies shuffle around and withdraw timidly from the light, leaving only Hana, who looks up wearily from where she’s laying and musters a small smile and a wave. Perhaps it’s just the light, but she looks pale.

“Hey Angie. Stop frowning like that.” She laughs, and sticks out her tongue. “You’re going to scare everyone away.”

“Zenyatta… you didn’t need to project— nevermind.” Angela passes a hand over her face and peers down into the screen. “Let’s take a look at you, Hana.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” Hana begins to raise one arm, and winces. Zenyatta reaches out to help her, gently holding it up, revealing white bandages spotted with blood. Hana inhales sharply, the air hissing between her clenched teeth. She pushes away Zenyatta’s hovering hands and undoes the bandages on her own.

“She was shot twice. The first bullet hit her in the side, the second grazed her.” Zenyatta points at two wounds, then moves to a much larger cut. “That was from a sword.”

“A sword?” Angela raises her eyebrows. “I… see.”

“OR units, am I right?” Hana laughs, and immediately grimaces. “Oof. The mech took most of it, and she’s still in working condition, which is amazing, but the windshield has this massive hole in it now.”

“An OR unit all the way out there?” Angela frowns. “Interesting. But more importantly, what kind was it? Did it fire energy rounds, or solid bullets?”

“An old model, from what I saw. The bullets were indeed metal, however I did not feel it was wise to attempt to extract it.” Zenyatta replies.

“Good. That’s… good.” Angela exhales deeply in relief. “Don’t try anything with it, but try not to move, alright Hana?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Hana flashes a peace sign, as if that somehow could back up her statement.

“Dr. Ziegler, what would you recommend here? We have only the medical kits that were stored in the mech.” Zenyatta tilts the camera down, revealing a small white case. It’s labeled in Korean, but the red cross on it is clear.

“You’ve done well, with what you have. Have you cleaned all the wounds? Applied a thin layer of antibiotic ointment?” When Zenyatta gives his affirmation, Angela nods and continues. “Good. Keep that clean and dry. And replace the dressing— I’m not seeing bleeding but there’s blood on those bandages. Cleanliness is the priority, now that bleeding has stopped. How long until you can be extracted?”

“It may take some time, or so we have been told.” Zenyatta says, quietly. “The most direct route goes through hostile territory. I have been assured that we are safe here, but anyone that wants to reach us may have to take a long detour.”

“I… see. Please call me back when you’re done changing the dressing. Just an audio call mind you—”

“Wait, wait, you’re leaving? Why?” Hana suddenly raises her head. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

Angela hesitates only for a fraction of a second. “Well, if Zenyatta doesn’t mind, then I would be glad to.”

“I do not mind.” Zenyatta hums. “It does not take up a great deal of energy.”

“Oh, good. Cool.” Hana closes her eyes for a long moment, then opens them. “How are things back there?”

“Quiet.” Angela smiles, softly. “Very quiet. McCree and Lena are back, but Lena’s gone off to visit with Emily for a while, and McCree has done nothing but light things on fire and sleep through the day.”

“Aw man, you guys are lighting things on fire without me?” Hana puffs up her cheeks in an exaggerated pout. “No fair.”

“Well, it’s really mostly just him. I think he’s stopped now anyways. Fareeha’s been scolding him about it, and Satya radiates enough disapproval on her own that she doesn’t even need to talk to him about it.”

Hana brightens up a little. “Oh yeah! How’s Satya been! And Lú? They haven’t gotten into any big fights have they? I asked them not to.”

“Oh? Well, they took it to heart, I guess. They haven’t clashed much yet. They just avoid each other, mostly.” Angela cocks her head. She hadn’t actually known that Hana was apparently that close to Satya. Satya seemed to only tolerate other agents for her official duties and academic interests.

“Mostly’s better than always! That’s good.” Hana yawns. “Ugh, I need a nap.”

“I can imagine.” Angela sits back and folds her hands in her lap. The room falls quiet, punctuated only by Hana’s soft breathing and the faintest whir of fans from both Zenyatta and Angela’s computer.

After nearly half an hour, Angela breaks the silence. “Zenyatta?” Her voice is very low, and quiet.

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler?”

“I didn’t want to worry her, but depending on how long you end up having to wait there…” Angela shakes her head. “I don’t like it. If any complications emerge, there’s not going to be much you can do, with such limited supplies. Please, keep an eye on her and let me know if you notice anything unusual. She’ll be alright, but I worry.”

“Of course.” Zenyatta raises his head and nods at something Angela hadn’t noticed before. A metal orb, like one of the ones usually floating around Zenyatta’s neck. It hangs above Hana’s head, glowing a faint gold and bobbing up and down gently in the air. A stream of light anchors it firmly to Hana. “I have done everything in my power to help.”

Angela smiles. “You are full of surprises, Zenyatta. I used to wonder at the wording in some of Genji’s missives. I think I understand what he meant now.”

“Many things are mysterious and surprising, don’t you think? Such is existence.”

“You really would have been good for him.” Angela closes her eyes. “I’m glad you met.”

“As am I. Genji is one of the brightest pupils I have ever taught.” Zenyatta bows his head, and falls silent once more.

Angela sits there, keeping them company for three more hours. As the morning light changes to a fiercer golden noonday sun, Hana suddenly opens her eyes and looks directly at Angela. Her eyes have a focused, clear quality to them that Angela doesn’t expect. Hana blinks, slowly, and says, very softly, “Angie, you look sad.” She raises her arm, the one that doesn’t hurt, and gestures vaguely in the air. “Sad in the eyes.” She blinks again, and the strange light in her own eyes clears away. “You should eat something.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” But Hana doesn’t reply. She’s already asleep again. Angela sits there for several more minutes, thinking, but at last she closes the computer and gets up. She winces as her joints pop.

The halls are quiet, as they had been for the past few months. Fluorescent lights and featureless metal halls stretch in all directions, occasionally punctuated by mostly identical metal doors. Angela is suddenly excruciatingly aware of her own breathing. Overwatch has never felt so lonely.

Angela almost knocks Winston on the head as she enters the mess hall, earning her a startled huff and a surprised glance. Winston pats the fur on his head carefully, as if double checking for any injuries. He shakes his head briskly, and adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose before offering Angela a smile.

“Oh! Winston! I’m sorry!”

Winston raises a hand. “No offense taken, Dr. Ziegler! I was very close to the door.”

“Sorry!” Angela apologizes again, ducking her head in embarrassment. “Er… Anyways, it’s rare to see you out and about at this time of day! Have things slowed down?”

Winston shakes his head. “Unfortunately no. I’m just taking a break.” He grimaces. “Just today I got word from China about… But you know about that don’t you? Zenyatta called you, right?”

“Indeed he did. Hana is in stable condition and capable hands. Zenyatta is a competent healer himself, from what I’ve seen, and calm enough to be effective in emergencies.”

“Ah.” Much to Angela’s confusion, Winston seem to almost deflate ever so slightly at her words. “That’s… good.”

“Indeed.” Angela agrees, politely. She looks over Winston’s shoulder. “Are those leftovers on the table?”

“What? Oh yes.” Winston shuffles out of the way. “The others got a little worried when neither you nor I showed up for lunch, I think. They saved some for us.”

“That’s nice.” Angela hesitates in the sudden, thick, awkward miasma in the air, then hurries over to the table and sits down. Winston mutters some hasty excuses and slips out the door with surprising grace. Angela watches him go, brow furrowed. What’s gotten into him?

Hana greets her the moment the call opens up again. “Oh, hey Angie, you’re back? Did you eat your lunch?”

“I did, Hana, thank you for asking.” Angela bows her head in acknowledgement. “You’re awake already?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s only evening out here anyways. Um, did I say something weird while I was out of it? I remember saying something weird.” Hana pinches the bridge of her nose, and frowns. “Was it a dream?”

“Perhaps you should tell me about it.” Zenyatta cocks his head. “Dreams are fascinating, are they not?”

“What?” Hana’s face suddenly reddens. “Um, sorry Zen, I don’t… geeze, it was weird. Well, if you don’t remember it happening, it was a dream, right?”

Zenyatta shrugs. “I, too, was likely quiescent at the time.”

“Oh.” Hana looks up. “Were you there Angela?”

Angela smiles. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m kind of worrying about it.” Hana frowns. “If it did happen… don’t tell anyone, okay? People are going to make, like, sensationalist stories or something. I’m probably in enough hot water already.” She raises the hand on her good side and makes a sweeping gesture in the air. “I can see it already. ‘MEKA star insane?’ Yeesh.”

Angela chuckles. “Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be like that. But I think we can file this entire day under patient-doctor confidentiality.”

“Oh?” Hana lowers her hand. “That’s good. But, you know, you underestimate the media.”

“Do I?”

“Um, yeah. I’m kind of surprised. You have a habit of just dropping off the map sometimes; the first few times everyone thought you died or got kidnapped or something.”

“Did they?” Angela snorts.

“Yeah. You don’t read the news? Not even about yourself?”

“I read the news, but I assume that I don’t really need to read about myself. I would like to think I’m self aware enough to not need that.”

“Hey, what are you implying?” Hana makes a face. “It’s hard to avoid that kind of stuff when everyone messages you about it all the time! ‘Oooohhhh D.Va look at what so-and-so said! Is it true? It’d be cute if it were true. Oh my gosh are you hiding something? Wow i didn’t know that!’ Yeah man, I’m actually chronically ill and also have a secret boyfriend.” Hana rolls her eyes. “And when I don’t say anything they all take it to mean ‘yes’.”

“Sounds rough.” Angela smiles, again.

“Well, it’s kind of funny sometimes.” Hana shrugs, then winces. “Eurgh. But usually it’s just obnoxious.”

“How interesting.” Zenyatta’s humming voice cuts in. “I, too, have received some unwanted attention as a former member of the Shambali, however I find that attention rapidly disappeared.”

“Yeah, that’s because you don’t do anything interesting.” Hana looks over. “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Now I am curious.” Zenyatta tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that you mostly just like… act like a travelling therapist kind of. People think that’s neat but they don’t want to read about it more than once, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Oh, well, there’s a lot more immediately uh… engaging things? Like the seasonal Numbani fashion shows? The spring collection was really cute! And even just in terms of notable people, it’s a lot more tempting to read about someone that flies a giant robot to fight another giant robot.”

“I see.” Zenyatta shrugs. “Regardless, I do not mind so much. It is nice to have a great deal of quiet time, I think.”

“Yeah. You gotta savor it.” Hana settles back, and sighs.

“Well, not all of us can be child stars, can we?” Angela chimes in.

“Says the woman who was actually a child prodigy!” Angela grins at this.

“Besides, I haven’t really had a job for the last several years.” Angela shrugs. “Not quite glamorous, is it?”

“I think it’s nice.” Hana says, quietly. “A lot of people get fixated on fame and fortune and stuff. The people in Overwatch don’t really think like that.”

“Yes.” Zenyatta nods. “It is quite… ‘cool’, as they say.”

“Ohhh my god.” Hana rolls her eyes. “We were having a moment! I know you know the modern slang, stop that!”

“Stop what?” Zenyatta says, innocently.

“Hey, Angela, I get to go home after this, right? I don’t have to put up with this, right?”

Angela, struggling to suppress a rapidly growing grin, nods. “I’d expect you to be removed from the field for some time.”

“Great, great. So I don’t have to listen to this 20 year old robot use super old surfer slang?”

“‘Cool’ is not jargon exclusive to surf culture.” Zenyatta notes, calmly. “Claiming that it is so is so not ‘tubular’, ‘my dude’.”

“Nooooooooooooooooo.” Hana wails and dramatically drapes an arm over her face. “Noooooo stooooopp!”

Angela snorts, and quickly buries her head in her arms to hide her snickering. “Well,” she says, after a long moment and a deep breath, “You must teach me sometime, Zenyatta. I find I’m not very ‘hip’ with the kids these days.”

Hana looks aghast. “Actually I think I’d rather die.”

“Ah, how unfortunate. It seems I cannot accept your request, then.” Zenyatta says, genuinely sounding mildly apologetic. “However, Dr. Ziegler, I have been thinking. It may be good for us to come together as master and pupil for more academic reasons. I am not as familiar with human bodies and the medicine applied to them as I would like.”

“Certainly, Zenyatta. I would be glad to assist. In return, perhaps you could teach me about omnics? Admittedly Overwatch was not the best, shall we say, in that field. I’ve only been treating them more often in the recent years, and I have much to learn.”

“Oh, of course. I would be happy to assist.”

“You guys should group up with Brigitte too.” Hana makes a finger gun. “Party up!”

“You know, you accuse me of using surfer slang when it is not appropriate, and yet you seem to do the gamer equivalent.” Zenyatta tilts his head. “Quite frequently, might I add.”

“Okay, first of all, surfer slang is never appropriate. Second, I’m actually a gamer so it’s not lame when I do it.”

“It’s not?” Something about the tone of Zenyatta’s voice says that he would be raising his eyebrows, if indeed he had any.

“D— did you just call me lame?” Hana makes as if to sit up, but thinks better of it. “Ooohhh I’m gonna… I’m—”

“—Going to do nothing for the moment.” Angela interrupts. “Except sit tight and wait for extraction.”

“Whatever.”

After several minutes of silence, Angela sighs. “Well, I have work to do, but I don’t quite want to leave you alone. Would you mind if I just sent out the word and let the others drop in if they wanted to?”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Hana frowns.

“Half of the agents here are… what’s the official term? Ambassadors? I can’t exactly outright hide anything from them, nor do I believe any harm would come from them knowing. I trust Lúcio and Fareeha wholeheartedly. I don’t know Satya as well, but it would suspicious, to say the least, to leave her out.”

“I sense in Satya a great desire to do good. You need not worry about her.” Hana nods along as Zenyatta speaks.

“I see. Anyways, do I have your permission to invite others to come see you?” Angela’s fingers hover over the keys, ready to send a message.

“Yeah! It would be nice. Zenny? What about you?”

“I do not mind at all.”

“Cool! Cool, okay, yeah, you got it!” Hana gives Angela a thumbs, or rather, a thumb up.

“Very well, then. I’ll send out a message, and just leave this open. Call if anything else comes up, alright?” Angela taps a button, and after the confirmation pops up, gets up, stretches, and pushes in the chair. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Bye!” Hana waves, and sticks out her tongue. “Good luck on your work, or whatever!”

“Thank you… or whatever.” Angela returns the gesture.

“That’s fair.” Hana says, and grins. “See ya.”

“Mmhm.” Angela shrugs on a lab coat as she leaves.

 

* * *

 

 _Blip._ Fareeha pauses to wipe the sweat off her brow, take a sip of water, and check her phone, cheeks flushed from exertion. _Angela._ For a brief moment, Fareeha becomes vividly aware of the heat in her face. She takes a few seconds to read over the message.

 

As you may or may not know, agent Hana “D.Va” Song has been injured on duty, and must be removed from the front lines. However, due to current circumstances, extraction has been delayed, and as such she and Zenyatta are currently stuck waiting, and will be for some time. I have set up a video call with Zenyatta, and the door to my office is unlocked. Feel free to drop by and keep them company while they wait. Let me know if anything comes up, and keep in mind to not be overtly worried. They are under enough stress as it is.

-Dr. Ziegler

 

Hana? Fareeha has to stop and take a deep breath. _She’s too young for this._ The thought rings loud and clear in her mind. Fareeha ignores the other thought, the one that says Fareeha herself was the same when she was young. Instead, she considers the time, and shifts her schedule a little to allow for some time to swing by Angela’s office.

 _Blip._ Another one? Fareeha raises an eyebrow and switches channels. A private message, from Winston this time. It’s very short, but Fareeha still has to read over it a few times. She frowns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I've had really bad writer's block these past few weeks, and I'm getting really frustrated with how things are turning out. I also feel pretty bad about being so behind schedule. After some thinking, I believe it'd be best to put this on a brief hiatus while I sort things out! In the meantime, I'm going back and editing a few things. Just cleaning up rough edges, and formatting it better.


	18. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen. The world continues on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get to the point where I can write Talon in more extensively because I've been itching to write the edgelord gang for a while! In the meantime, here's some more day to day developments. I'm trying to get my muse back.

“Angela! Angela! Doc-Dr. Ziegler!” Angela wakes with a start, blue eyes wide and startled. A few strands of hair, sticky with saliva, cling to her cheek; she rubs it hurriedly with the back of her hand and scrambles to her feet as pounding footsteps approach the door. It swings open with a clatter and a crash.

On the other side, one palm flat on the door, the other on one knee, doubled over, and gasping for breath is Lúcio. He takes a moment to catch his breath and looks up, catching Angela dead in the eye. “It’s an emergency!” He gasps. “Whoo! Man, I’m too used to skates nowadays.”

Angela, one hand already on a first aid kit, looks Lúcio over nervously. “What happened? Who’s hurt? What do you need?”

“Right, right!” Lúcio holds up one finger, and then swings a little drawstring backpack off of his back. “My man got ripped open!” As he says this, Lúcio produces a large plush frog who, indeed, had a somewhat sizable gash in its side. Bits of fluffy white stuffing poke through.

Angela’s wrist twitches, as if she very seriously considered throwing the kit for a moment. Instead, she groans and rubs her forehead. “Who taught you to—you had to have—” She grimaces. “If you came up with that by yourself then that means… no someone told you to—”

“Quite the contrary, Dr. Ziegler. He is just like that.” From the hallway, Satya looks on with an expression of complete and utter distaste. “Street thug.”

The smile slowly slips from Lúcio’s face. His hands ball into fists. When he speaks, it sounds as if his teeth are clenched as tightly as his fists. “Is have been trying really hard to get along with you. Really hard!” He turns to direct the full force of his glare at Satya. “But man, I can’t even tolerate you right now.”

“Aha. Impulsive and dangerous, as always.” Satya lifts her chin, and calmly returns Lúcio’s gaze. “Additionally, I am not a man.”

“It’s a figure of speech.” Lúcio growls.

“No, I don’t think it is.”

“Listen up, you Vishkar _busybody_.” Lúcio raises a finger. “I’ve been doing my best to be nice because Hana asked me to and Hana’s my friend. But that only goes so far, and I’m just about ready to—”

“—And I’m going to stop you right there.” Angela, who had been looking back and forth and hurrying from behind her desk during the exchange suddenly appears at Lúcio’s shoulder and grabs his arm. “Keep in mind that you are both teammates, and expected to cooperate with each other. If you have a problem, take it to Winston or solve it nicely, but don’t cause a ruckus. Especially not right outside the medbay, understand?” She tightens her grip on Lúcio, and gives Satya a dry, thin-lipped smile.

“I—Of course, Dr. Ziegler.” Satya takes a step back and dips her head. “My apologies. I wouldn’t want to disturb your work. Or your patients, for that matter.” At this, she gives Lúcio one final look, then departs down the hall.

Angela listens for a little while until she can no longer hear the _clack-clack_ of Satya’s heels on the hard floor. It’s only then that she loosens her vice grip on Lúcio’s arm, simultaneously releasing a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. “Don’t say or do anything you might regret, young man.”

“I’m not scared of her.” Still, the tension eases out of Lúcio’s shoulders somewhat.

Angela sternly shakes a finger. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. We are each and every single one of us responsible for the success and reputation of Overwatch. I will not tolerate _any_ infighting, are we clear?”

“Sure.” After a moment, a slightly belligerent note creeps into Lúcio’s voice. “But what about Bastion? If she ever finds out that—”

“That decision was not up to me, nor do I approve of it.” Angela holds out a hand, palm up. “Give me the frog, and go calm down.”

Lúcio hands over the frog without a word, but a few steps out the door he turns to look over his shoulder. “Thanks, doc. Sorry you had to see that.”

Angela, for her part, merely flaps one hand in his direction. “Shoo, shoo.” Lúcio nods and hurries away, deep in thought.

Angela’s fingers skim her desk, occasionally stopping to pick up papers and move files. She moves on, pulling out her drawers and rummaging around briefly in each. “I left it around here, didn’t I..?” She mumbles to herself, brow furrowing. She lightly taps a scrap of fabric. “Yeah, should be…” A cursory glance on the floor and in the trash yields no results. Angela sighs, and picks up the plush frog, shoves it under her arm, and turns to the side door into the medbay proper.

Angela is greeted by a stream of rapid Korean. Hana, sitting up in bed, spares her a glance and a nod before returning to her phone call. Judging by the expression on her face, it was not going well. Angela rolls her eyes, plucks up a small box from the reception desk, and quickly crosses the room to Hana’s bedside.

“Hey Dr. Ziegler!” Hana says, very loudly into the phone. “What’s that? You have something important to talk about? Sure!” Then she pulls it away and hangs up, cutting off the stream of chatter erupting from the other end with a look of utter disgust. She turns to Angela, and lowers her voice. “Can you believe these guys?”

“That was MEKA, right?” Angela nods at the phone. Hana mutters something in affirmation. “They would be very concerned about you, after all. You are their best soldier.”

“It’s not that.” Hana makes a face. “I get that. But they always do this… this thing. I can tell from the way they act and talk about me. Like, I know I’m young, and small, and I have a high pitched voice and kind of a baby face, but…”

“... But you  feel like you’re being patronized?” Angela pulls up a chair and sits down, balancing the box on her knee. The frog goes in her lap.

“Patronized?”

“It’s kind of like being treated like a small child. When someone talks down to you like they’re an adult that knows better than you do what’s good for you.” Angela pulls a pair of glasses out of the breast pocket of her coat, and perches them on her nose. She peers down at the frog, trying to discern which color of thread would be best.

Hana lights up. “Yeah! Is that the word in English?”

“It’s an English term, yes. It’d be ‘bevormunden’ in German.” Angela settles on white, and begins to thread it through a needle.

“Befor—wait, say it again I wanna try.” Hana leans forward.

“Oh, no, you don’t want to learn German from me.” Angela laughs. “I’ll end up teaching you French instead.”

“That’s cool too!”

“No, no, and besides, I’m told the accent is rather odd.” Angela shrugs, stitching with a swift and practiced hand. “Of course, I can’t tell.”

“Ugh.” Hana slumps back into the bed. “I’m stuck here for sooo long though! At least teach me how to swear?” Angela turns and gives Hana a hard look. Hana raises her hands. “Because I think Reinhardt swears in German.”

“He does, but so do I.” Angela says nothing more, only continuing to sew.

“Fine. I’ll just an online translator then. Don’t blame me when my grammar is bad.” Hana crosses her arms and scowls in Angela’s direction. Angela smiles at her with a look that says _“I’d like to see that.”_ But says nothing out loud.

After a minute or so of silence, Hana clears her throat. “That’s Lú’s, right?”

“Indeed. He seemed quite distressed about it.” Angela produces a small silvery pair of scissors. “More than necessary, if you ask me.” She tugs on the thread, to make sure the knot is secure, and then snips it.

“I mean, yeah. That’s hand-made. It’s one of a kind, and he’s had it forever too.”

“I can tell.” Angela holds the frog up, turns it this way and that, and then sets it down, apparently satisfied with her work. “Well, I suppose I’d better get it back to him and get back to work.”

Hana puts a hand over her mouth. “Aw Angie! You stopped work just to fix Lú’s frog? That’s so sweet!”

Angela packs everything away and snaps the lid back on her sewing kit, glaring at Hana. “You seem very surprised.”

“Dr. Angela ‘I single-handedly account for over half of our coffee requisitions because I would rather work than sleep’ Ziegler took a break to sew together a frog plushie!” Hana giggles, whips out her phone, and begins typing furiously.

“Are you posting that to social media?”

“Nope!” Hana continues before Angela has a chance to look relieved. “Official Overwatch channel!”

 

* * *

 

 _Ping._ Fareeha pulls her phone out of her pocket, fist hovering over the door. She hesitates, then taps on the alert, knocking slowly at the same time.

[D.Va]: OMG @Lúcio Angela seriously dropped everything to help you out

[Lúcio]: Oh man really?

[Lúcio]: That’s wild!

[Satya]: Do you truly feel the need to have this conversation in here?

[D.Va]: Yes Satya, it’s very important.

[Angela]: Is this really a big deal?

[D.Va]: Angie!!! You’re standing right next to me!

[Lúcio]: You’re kind of a workaholic, doc

[D.Va]: Yeah it’s intense actually.

[Fareeha]: You really do work a lot, Dr. Ziegler. It’s good to get some rest.

[Angela]: Hypocrite.

[D.Va]: Wow, snappy!

[D.Va]: At least she sleeps! I’ve been in the medbay for the last few days and for all I know you sleep in your office.

[D.Va]: Do you even use your room?

[Angela]: Yes!

[Fareeha]: She does sleep, despite what it may seem.

[Angela]: ...

[Lena]: Fareeha luv,

[Lena]: Why would you know that?

 

Fareeha blushes, suddenly realizing how what she had just typed out sounded without context. She hurriedly taps a response.

 

[Fareeha]: I stay up late too.

 

At that moment, the door opens. Winston pokes his head out, and looks at the phone in Fareeha’s hand. He sighs. “Sometimes I regret giving them a casual channel.”

Fareeha hurriedly pockets the device. “Right. I can see why.”

Winston pats down his dark, tousled hair and opens the door fully. “Come on in. Excuse the mess.” He gently closes the door behind Fareeha. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

“Let me see…” Winston brushes some papers and empty peanut butter containers off a console. He peers down at it, and presses a button. Above him, the wall lights up blue. After a moment, it darkens, and then begins to display a map in orange. A holographic globe appears right behind Winston, who shuffles around and turns it. He stops it shortly, zooming in and selecting a point in the Arabian Desert. “We’re sending you to Oasis on a very delicate mission. It’s a fascinating city. I wish I could go, but, well.” Winston turns and casts a mournful look around the room. He shakes himself, and continues. “Oasis was founded on free thinking and unrestricted progress, but for the sake of security we can’t place classified information in the hands of its scientists for analysis. However, the city does have the single largest archive in the world, and that archive is free to use. I need you to go there and collect information on a few specific topics. The delicate part is doing so without being overt about our interests. The crime prevention technology there is extremely advanced, so it’s very unlikely for you to encounter any serious trouble in the city itself, but…”

“... But outside the city is a different matter.” Fareeha finishes the sentence.

Winston nods. “Correct. Additionally, the mission at Illios troubles me. The way the attack was planned, and how quickly the communications and surveillance systems were shut down…” He shakes his head. “We’re up against an enemy that is frighteningly good at getting information and denying it to others. Considering the circumstances, I’m not inclined to trust the digital archives. I’d like you to prioritise the hard copies. You are our local security expert, so I’ll leave the specifics of how you want to do this up to you.”

“Sir.” Fareeha intejects, “I am not a scientist by any means. I suspect navigating Oasis’ archives and determining what’s worth delving deeper into would require someone from a more academic background. Will I be working alone?”

“No.” Winston sits down with a heavy sigh. “We are stretched thin, but you’re right. This isn’t a one person job. However, I’ve only talked to you so far. Selecting your partners is a bit of a dilemma for me.”

Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because,” Winston sighs again. “Well, you know that Oasis is governed by Ministries, right? And each Ministry is led by a Minister.” Fareeha nods. “The problem here is… well, the Minister of Genetics is one Moira O’Deorain. Are you familiar with her?”

Fareeha only needs to think for a moment. “A former Overwatch scientist, correct? She’s the subject of some controversy, or so I’ve heard.”

“Indeed. Many of us knew her personally, some even worked with her for some time. However, none of us are on good terms with her. Moira had little time for morals, nor did she ever try to be respectful of the emotions of others.” Winston takes a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, if I send Overwatch veterans with you, she may use her power to cause problems. I don’t believe she would outright try to sabotage any research, no matter how much she dislikes the person behind it, but it’s a situation that I truly don’t want to deal with.”

“And all three scientists we have were members of the first Overwatch.” Fareeha taps her chin. “What about Satya? She’s intelligent and disciplined.”

Winston shakes his head. “I would gladly assign her to the mission, and will likely actually do so, however we are actually forbidden to make a team comprising of only our ambassadors, to prevent us from simply sending them all away. Your job is to monitor our recruited agents, so if we don’t send any with you, it becomes a problem.”

“Ah.” Fareeha vaguely remembers a clause about that, now that Winston’s said it. “I see.”

“Reinhardt, Torbjörn, and Brigitte will not return for some time. Lena is one of the better options, but she’s quite impatient and much more suited for combat missions. Additionally, her condition is both very interesting and totally unique. She’ll attract a lot of attention, and contribute little to the actual mission. McCree will be departing soon on another solo mission, and Mei is still on her own personal journey. Genji will be back in time to join this mission, and while he is also conspicuous he is considerably more patient and trained in subterfuge. I would actually like him to investigate into Oasis somewhat, and see if he can dig up any secrets. However, if they know he’s there, it becomes a pointless endeavor. So, we need another agent with you to maintain appearances.”

“Angela.” Fareeha leans back against a wall and folds her arms. “What you’re getting at is Angela.”

“Indeed. I am very reluctant to do this though. Angela is fiercely outspoken in her beliefs, and Oasis’ loose policies have earned her criticism before. Additionally, out of all of us, she is the one that gets along the most poorly with O’Deorain. They absolutely hate each other. She’s not going to want to go on this mission.” Winston’s words linger in the air. The big ape himself shuffles his feet, carefully thinking about how he wants to word his next statement. Fareeha beats him to it.

“You want me to convince her to come.” Her voice is flat.

“I—yes. You’ve spent a lot of time with her in training and in a mission. We are close friends, and I suppose I am the commander, of course, but there’s…” Winston trails off, and grimaces. “Well, anyways, I think she’s most likely to listen to you at this time.”

Fareeha gives him a curious look, but doesn’t press the matter. “I see.”

“When Genji comes back we’ll do a more thorough debrief. I’ll let you know about the exact date when it’s closer.” Winston dips his head. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” Fareeha tilts her head slightly, and frowns. Winston seems very nervous to her, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why. She waits a little longer, but Winston turns around and begins typing furiously, seemly having forgotten her presence. Fareeha shrugs, and takes her leave. Not really a proper dismissal, but she should be used to these kinds of things by now. She checks her phone.

 

[Angela]: Oh hush

[Angela]: I’m going back to work you can all stop pestering me now.

[D.Va]: F

[Lúcio]: ♥

[Lena]: ♥

 

Fareeha snorts. Better drop by at a later time, then.

 

* * *

 

The moon is high in the sky when Fareeha finally gets around to tracking Angela down. As she approaches the lab doors, they swing open with a rush of air, revealing an interior flooded by bright fluorescent lights. Angela stands at her station, a lone patch of color in a room that is otherwise entirely stark black and white. The glass in her hands catches the light, forcing Fareeha to squint slightly.

“Fareeha?” Angela lowers the apparatus in her hands. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have a moment? I need to talk to you.” Fareeha steps inside the lab, listening to the door shut behind her. She eyes the shimmering yellow dish in front of Angela. “If you’re busy it’s alright, it’s not super pressing—”

“It’s alright” Angela sets the glass down, and presses something on the table in front of her. The glow fades. She catches Fareeha’s curious look. “Nanobiotic cellular resuscitation by means of—” She cuts herself off and coughs, embarrassed. “It makes you heal fast.”

“I thought you could already do that.”

“I’m trying to figure out how to do it faster, and better.” Angela shakes her head. “But nevermind that, what did you need?”

“Winston talked to be earlier today regarding a mission that he wants to send me on, probably with Satya and Genji as well. I was hoping you’d come with.” Fareeha says, hurriedly. Suddenly it seems this conversation is a waste of valuable research time.

“Of cour—”

“Wait.” Fareeha cuts Angela off before she can say anything more. “It’s to Oasis.”

The reaction is visceral. Angela stiffens, all the friendly warmth draining out of her posture, her face. Fareeha almost whistles to herself. Winston wasn’t kidding.

“I see.” Angela says, slowly, eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. Then, she sees something in Fareeha’s expression. She blinks, and relaxes slightly. “I’m sorry for my reaction.”

“Winston said you felt strongly about it, but I didn’t think… you don’t have to go.” Fareeha says, taken aback. She winces internally. That was a lie. Angela’s presence would be rather important.

“No, I just…” Angela sighs. “Oasis is… complicated, shall we say. It’s not a bad place. It’s clean, safe, and an unrivaled gathering of some of the greatest minds in the world. There are a lot of good people there, striving to make the world a better place.” Fareeha listens quietly as Angela pauses to collect her thoughts, and continues. “The city is centered around a principle that I disagree _strongly_ with. I’ve always been very vocal and public about that disagreement. I’m not unwelcome there; no one is, as long as they don’t cause trouble, but it’s awkward.”

Fareeha waits a little bit, to see if she has anything else to say. When it becomes clear that Angela doesn’t, she speaks quietly. “You talk like you know this from experience.”

Angela makes a face. “I have, more than once, been forced to visit the city for academic purposes.”

“I see.” Fareeha’s shoulders slump, ever so slightly. She turns towards the door “Sorry to trouble you.”

“Wait.” Fareeha looks over her shoulder, right into Angela’s fierce stare. “I didn’t say no. I don’t like being in Oasis, but I’d imagine it’s much more bearable in such good company. Tell Winston I’m in.” She smiles then, beautiful, radiant, and warm.

And then Fareeha smiles too. “I’m glad.” She turns to the door, but pauses in the frame, looking over her shoulder. “Get a good night’s sleep, alright? Take care of yourself.”

Angela laughs. “To think _you’re_ lecturing _me_ about this. Alright, alright, I’ll do my best, I promise.”

“That’s the best I can ask for, I suppose. Good night then.” Fareeha turns, casting a wave over her shoulder.

“Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a very little thing, but recently I was able to meet and very briefly talk to both Lucie Pohl and Charlet Chung (voices of Mercy and D.Va respectively), as well as attend their Overwatch panel. It was quite a treat to be able to listen to them talk about how they interpret their characters, and the areas that they can relate in. Anyways, Charlet mentioned something about herself that I thought was interesting: She had self esteem issues, in part because she's so small. Hana doesn't take things as seriously as most, but obviously resents being called a child. I just thought it was a neat little potential parallel. I'll be trying to go back and listen to the Overwatch VAs talk about their characters and let that guide my characterization in the future, so hopefully it ends up being more authentic.
> 
> Oh, and regarding the very, very small amount of German: I can't seem to find any Swiss Standard German resources; not even a video displaying the accent. I'm just basing it off of German Standard German and hoping everything's pronounced similarly enough to still be accurate.


	19. Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pieces have begun to move into place.

_He was waiting for her when she got back, crouched on the table like some sort of brooding cat. It was dark; the lights weren’t on, but parts of him glowed like so many error signs. Angela was rather nonplussed, and simply turned on the lights._

_“Good evening.” She said as she put down her keys. “How can I help you?”_

_Genji didn’t blink. “I need the other body.”_

_“Right now?” Genji didn’t reply. All he did was give Angela a hard stare. “Alright, I’ll call up the mechanics. Next time, tell Gabe to give us more of a forewarning.”_

 

* * *

 

“Master!” Genji stands in the middle of the room, holding a phone to his ear. He somehow seems to glow brighter than usual today. Angela stands in the doorway with her slippers, disgruntledly sipping a cup of coffee and trying to comb her hair into something presentable. “Hello! I’m sorry, I broke my phone a month ago, so…but anyways, how are you? Me? I’m back at the watchpoint now, you know. Huh? Oh that’s true I guess!” He chatters on and on. Angela wonders how Zenyatta ever gets a word in edgewise.

“Angela, what’s—” Fareeha pokes her head into the room. “Genji’s back already?”

“He sure is.” Angela scowls. “He wanted to borrow my phone, but couldn’t wait for me to actually wake up.” She punctuates her words with sips of coffee interspersed with the occasional glare in Genji’s general direction. Genji starts laughing.

Fareeha eyes him. “Energetic.”

“More than you know.” Angela scowls and mutters something about fusion cores. She shakes herself. “Well, I’m up, so what did you need?”

“This.” Fareeha holds up what appears to be a small syringe, filled with a dull yellow liquid. “I thought you might be able to identify it.”

“Hm?” Angela crosses the room and inspects it more closely. “It’s a biotic dart, originally made for—” She cuts herself off and shakes her head. “Where did you find that?”

“I was just rummaging around the back rooms.” Fareeha shrugs. “What should I do with it?”

“Well, I might as well take it and see if I can reuse it. It looks like it’s been inactive for a long, long time, but who knows?” She holds out a hand. Fareeha obligingly drops the dart in her palm, and Angela tucks it away in her pocket.

“I’ll see you at practice.” Fareeha turns to go.

“Sure! But first, want to go get breakfast? Unless you already have, I mean.” Angela looks over her shoulder at Genji, still chattering animatedly. “I don’t think he’ll be done soon enough to warrant me waiting around anyways.”

“Huh?” Fareeha stiffens, and just blinks on silence for a solid minute. Finally, she gathers her words. “I um. Already ate a bit. Sorry.” Seeing Angela’s shoulders droops, she hastily adds. “B-but I could go for a coffee? We still have some, yeah? I mean, of course we do, you…” She gestures vaguely at the mug in Angela’s hands.

Angela goes to cover her mouth, but Fareeha can still see her smile between the fingers. “Well, if you can tolerate me this early, let’s go see what we have!”

“Lúcio-Oh’s, probably.”

“That’s a given, isn’t it?” Angela tries one last time to comb the tangles out of her hair, then gives up and tosses the comb on the nearest flat surface. “Maybe there’s some leftovers, er… left over?” She gives Genji one last look, then steps out into the hall with Fareeha, gently closing the door behind her. They can both hear Genji’s animated chatter through the metal.

“Jesse might have cleaned those out last night.”

“Yeah? When exactly?” Fareeha looks down at Angela, just in time to catch a glint in her eye.

“No, it’s just something that I think he would do.” Fareeha shifts her gaze forward.

“Are you just saying that to protect him?”

“No I’m—wait what do mean ‘protect’ him? Protect him from what?” At this, Angela just laughs. “You’re not planning anything are you?” She just laughs harder at this.

“Oh I would never scheme like that.” Angela finally says after she catches her breath. “I just need to know what exactly to scold him about. But you’re sweet, you know that? The exact kind of person that should work security.”

“Thank you.” Fareeha goes to say more, but something in her locks up. “Thank you.” She says again. She can’t think of anything else to say.

The dining hall is empty, but the metal panels are already down, revealing the large glass windows looking out onto the land. The watchpoint casts its deep shadow over the gravel and packed dirt of the grounds, shading it in all sorts of blue and purple at this hour of the day. Some structures catch the light, glowing brilliantly yellow, reflecting softer light into the room. Fareeha notices it catches on Angela’s hair, streaking it with brilliant gold. She tries not to stare, but Angela still catches her eye and smiles at her.

Fareeha brews the coffee while Angela rummages around. Much to her delight, she discovers some pancake mix, and immediately sets about bustling around the kitchen with it in hand. Fareeha, meanwhile, not knowing what else to do busies herself with counting and organizing the sugar packets. There isn’t much organizing to be done; evidently Satya had come through recently. The coffee maker clicks. Fareeha pours herself and cup and sits down.

“Ah, I made too much.” Angela loudly breaks the silence. She stares down at the pan, then at her plate. The genuinely perplexed look on her face triggers an instant reaction in Fareeha—she bursts out laughing, spraying some coffee over the table.

“You’re the world’s foremost surgeon.” She pauses, then starts laughing again. “That pioneered and new method of healing that swept the entire world.”

“Yes, well, the doctorate wasn’t for cooking.” Angela flips the last pancake onto her plate.

“There are instructions on the box that tell you all you need to know about the portions.” Fareeha gets up to get a napkin.

“Well, yes, I suppose, but I didn’t…” Angela pauses. “Um.”

Fareeha snorts. “Didn’t read it all the way through?”

“It doesn’t matter; I’ll just leave the rest for whoever wants them.” Angela gets out another plate.

“Sure, but maybe next time I should do the cooking?”

“But you already did the coffee.” Angela says, already having shoved the extra food in the fridge. As she says this, she pours herself a new cup of coffee.

“Coffee’s easy. Honestly.” Fareeha cleans the table with a few swipes of a napkin, and settles down again.

“But I’d feel bad.” Angela mumbles, quietly. That said, she clatters around in the kitchen some more, and finally sits down with a plate of pancakes and a fresh cup of coffee. Fareeha is too busy checking the news to look up, but privately she truly appreciates the company. They spend the next several minutes basking in each others’ presence, and the silence falls once again.

Angela is at the sink doing the dishes when Genji bursts in. “Smells good in here!” He says, cheerfully.

Angela looks up. “Genji, you can’t—”

“Let me have this, Angela.” He holds up her phone. “Sorry I took so long, but I came to return this!”

“Oh, don’t apologize Genji, it’s no great inconvenience for me. If you have to apologize to anyone, let it be Winston. I’d imagine replacing your phone involves some work.” Angela waves a hand in the air. “Oh speaking of which, you’ve heard about…”

“… About the new mission?” His tone suddenly becomes very serious. “Yes, I was told as soon as I got back. I understand there’s to be a meeting this evening. I shall see you then.” He crosses the room to the windows and peers outside. “In the meantime…” He cracks one open, and hops out. “I’ll be on the roof!” He gives the two women a thumbs up, and then climbs up the wall.

“Well—”

“Oh, and if you see Hanzo, let him know where I am, alright?” Genji’s voice drifts through the still open window. He reappears, flashes a thumbs up, and closes the window form the outside. In the blink of an eye, he’s gone again.

Fareeha sighs. “He does realize we’ll be drilling for most of the day right?”

“Probably not.” Angela shrugs. “That reminds me, I need to go get ready for that, don’t I?” She pats Fareeha on the shoulder and brushes by. “Thanks for the coffee!”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, no problem.” While Angela disappears into the corridor, Fareeha lingers. She wanders over to the window, and presses her fingers against the glass, watching the light pour through her hands. After a few minutes of contemplation, she abruptly turns.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha sits down on a wide, flat stone and takes off her helmet, setting it aside. She squints up at the sun. It hovers low in the deep blue sky, streaked and covered with wispy clouds. Suddenly, a shadow falls over her face.

“You alright?” Angela sets a water bottle down at her side, its surface already dense with beads of moisture. “You seem a bit out of it.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine.” Fareeha picks up the bottle. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Are you sure? You look like you need to take some time.” Angela sits down next to Fareeha. “Hm.” She produces her own water bottle and tilts her head up, looking at the sky. “You know, we spend so much time in the sky, but not enough time looking at it, do you think?”

“The higher you get the more you look down? There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.” Fareeha takes a swig of her water and sighs. “It makes you feel small, doesn’t it? There’s something else…” She shakes her head. “Never mind, we have work to do. A lot of it.” She stands up. “Ready to go again? We almost got that last one, I think.”

“Is that Hanzo?” Angela stands up and shades her eyes, pointing with her other hand. Fareeha looks in the direction she’s pointing. Indeed, the elder Shimada brother kneels on the edge of the seaside cliff. The breeze coming off the water pulls at the long strip of fabric in his hair, tugging on his clothes and his peppery hair. Something glints next to him, but neither Fareeha nor Angela can make out what exactly it is. “Genji did say to tell Hanzo where he was if we ever saw him.” Angela muses. As if on queue, he turns and looks in their direction.

“We’re not flying all the way over to deliver a message. I just said we have a lot of work to do.” Fareeha turns away. “Let’s get back to work.” Her jets fire. Angela doesn’t answer her, but before the sound of jets and wind drown out everything, she hears the signature flick of hard light wings.

“So.” Angela’s voice cuts through the sound of rushing air. Fareeha turns in the air, and looks back and slightly down to where Angela glides behind her. “That was odd.”

“What?”

“Hanzo.”

“What about him?” Fareeha turns back around and continues flying. “Ready?” She gets ready to adjust her angle.

“Yes.” Angela tilts her wings a little. “Specifically, the way he just turned when we said his name.”

“A coincidence.” Fareeha pulls up and into a half loop. Angela shoots past her, wings almost brushing the tip of Fareeha’s helmet. “Better, but I think we need to work on that angle some more.”

Angela twists, flares out her wings, and descends back to her original position. “Probably a coincidence. You’re right.” She pauses. “You’ve heard of the unique ah… lore regarding the Shimada clan, right?”

“You mean the spirit dragons? I am familiar.” Fareeha gets ready to run through the maneuver again. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Angela’s wings flash in Fareeha’s periphery. “What is your opinion on it?”

“On the dragons? I don’t put much stock in most of it. Rumors get exaggerated.” Fareeha pauses to watch Angela’s part of the maneuver. “That was good.”

“A few more tries; I think I’m close to getting it down.” Angela resets. “Anyways, I don’t know what you’ve heard but that family is a bit of a mystery, even to me.” When Fareeha doesn’t answer, she continues. “Did you know that almost everyone insists that only a blood relative of the Shimada clan can control their dragons? I’ve never found anything to explain that.”

“An elaborate family secret on the technology to construct and control a powerful light structure is my guess.” Fareeha shrugs.

“Oh no, I don’t disagree. I’m just curious, I suppose.”

“Perhaps he just saw us. We are not particularly unassuming.”

“Probably.” With that, conversation ebbs, turning back into the most basic of required exchanges to coordinate a maneuver. Fareeha occasionally makes comments about technique, but for the most part she’s happy to fall into a rhythm.

As the sun dips lower, the sky becomes splashed with orange and pink. For some reason it’s jarring. Fareeha is so busy trying to figure out why that she misses her queue. More than once. After the third time, Angela chimes in. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you say so.” Angela has the tone of someone who’s been through a similar conversation more than she would like to admit. “It’s getting late, and we’ve been at this for about 10 hours now. Shall we stop for the day?”

In response, Fareeha cuts her thrusters and drops to the ground, briefly firing them at the end to soften her landing. “Sure.” She pauses. “Good work today.”

“You as well.” Angela lands beside her, and gives her a curious glance. Much to Fareeha’s relief, she doesn’t prod. “I’ll see you at dinner! I need a shower.”

Fareeha mumbles some vague affirmation and turns to head towards the hangar doors. Halfway there, she stops and turns just in time to spot Angela disappearing through a door. She watches it close, then shifts her gaze to the sky. She watches the clouds and the sun until the sky turns the dusty blue of early evening just after sunset. Slowly, Fareeha turns and disappears into the shadows of the Watchpoint.

 

* * *

 

 

She still smells like fuel and dust when she arrives at the meeting, having only splashed a bit of water on her face before eating. It’s not as noticeable as Fareeha had feared, as Winston kept the control center well ventilated, but Satya still gives her a disapproving look when she steps through the door.

Angela sidles up to Fareeha and elbows her gently in the side. “When I said I was going to take a shower, I was implying that you should take one also.” She whispers.

“I was busy.” Fareeha looks down. Angela’s eyes sparkle with laughter. She looks away.

“I see.” Genji raises his voice from across the room, where he and Winston had been sharing a whispered conversation. “It seems simple enough. Do we really need a 4-man team to do this?”

“Perhaps not, but I’d like to be safe.” Winston adjusts his glasses. “Besides, I have been receiving some troubling reports. I am in the process of calling back a few agents and arranging them into slightly larger groups.”

“Are you sure?” Genji cocks his head and folds his arms across his chest. “It would make recon much harder.”

“And make surviving an ambush much easier.” Winston levels his gaze at Genji. After a minute or so, Genji shrugs and backs down.

“So, Lena will be back by tomorrow, and Zenyatta the day after. In the meantime, you get three days to prepare. I’m sorry for the short notice, but the issue has become urgent. I am putting Genji in charge of this mission, for his experience working in intelligence.” Winston holds up a small silvery chip. “This contains what you need to know, including what I want you to find out. Once research is completed, you are to return as soon as possible to the watchpoint. You have no time constraints as of right now, but that may quickly change.” He hands the chip to Genji. “Keep it safe.”

Genji accepts the chip, and studies it. He casually plugs it into his body, and claps his hands together. “Well! Sounds easy. Should we expect any trouble?”

“There have been reports of Talon activity in the general area, but none within Oasis itself. The desert immediately outside of the city is also quite inhospitable, so I’d expect there to be little trouble around the city. However, watch out for criminal activity while you’re traveling.” Winston looks around. “Any questions?”

Genji’s lights dim for a bit. “Commercial flight?” He cocks his head.

“Well, we can’t exactly airdrop you into the middle of a metropolis, can we?” Winston throws Genji an apologetic look. “You’ll have to—”

“I know.” Genji raises a hand. “I’m used to it, don’t worry.”

“I don’t suppose you have multiples of that chip.” Satya nods in Genji’s direction.

Winston shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.”

“I’ll send it to the rest of you after this!” Genji gives her a thumbs up.

Satya looks less than reassured. “Why you can’t just tell us is beyond me.”

“It’s long.” Genji’s lights dim again. “Very long.”

“We have time tonight.” Still, Satya doesn’t push the topic any further.

“So, short meeting tonight!” Genji stretches, and sighs. “Well, I’ve got some things to do, so I’ll see you all later.”

“How flippant.” Satya eyes him as he leaves. Genji pretends not to hear her, and instead begins humming.

“He doesn’t seem like he would do the kind of work that he does, hm?” Angela follows her gaze.

“He doesn’t seem like he would work at all.” Satya says flatly.

Angela laughs. “Well, he didn’t for a while back when…” She hesitates.

“When Overwatch was dissolved.”

“Well, yes. I don’t actually know exactly when he stopped… You know.” Angela shrugs, unconvincingly.

“No, I don’t.” Satya gives her a hard look, and then turns, striding out of the room without another word.

“You’re awful at lying.” Fareeha says, looking down at Angela.

“I consider that to be a good thing. It means I don’t have much practice.” Angela lifts her chin and walks out of the room. Fareeha, laughing quietly, follows her.

“So, where are you off to?” Angela pauses at the end of the hall to let Fareeha catch up.

“I’m going to actually take a shower.” Fareeha replies.

“Oh, good! Well, I suppose I’ll see you later then!” Angela waves, and then turns down the right-hand hall. Fareeha waves back, and puts her hands in her pockets before strolling away the opposite direction.

Angela steps into the fresh night air, filling her lungs and exhaling deeply. She closes her eyes and rubs her temples and pulls her hands back, across her hair. Her fingers pull a few strands of hair from her already messy ponytail, making her look even more disheveled. She opens her eyes, and look up at the moon. The rush of waves crashing onto the cliffs, the wind whistling through the buildings, and the chirp of crickets permeate the air. The drone of a ship’s horn echoes across the waves.

“…The day after…” Angela opens her eyes as a murmur reaches her ear. She cocks her head, and listens more intently. The voice comes again. “Come on, you haven’t even really gotten to know him yet.” There is a subtle mechanical tone to the voice. Genji.

“I know him well enough.” A sharper voice. Hanzo.

“He is one of my closest friends, and my mentor. We talked about this!”

“You have poor judgement.”

Silence. Then, Genji speaks again, slowly. His voice is lower, colder. “Perhaps that is why I still stand by _you_.”

“Indeed.” Despite his reply, Hanzo’s voice becomes hesitant. Regretful, almost. Still, he continues. “Both the omnic, and the doctor—”

“Don’t.”

“I trust neither, and you should follow suit. They both keep many secrets, I can feel it. Besides, you owe them nothing. To be friends with a person just because she treated you—”

“She saved my life. And I’m not friends with her because of that, I’m friends with her because she’s a good person. The same goes for Zenyatta. He saved me in a different way, and I love him because he is wise and kind. And who are you to point fingers, Hanzo? How many secrets do you keep? If they didn’t know, and if I didn’t tell them, would you have confessed to what you did? These are wonderful people who believe in helping others, and I hope that you are too, somewhere deep down there.”

“I’m not.” Hanzo’s response is flat.

“You could be.” Genji’s response is sad, soft.

Angela hears the crunch and rustle of grass underfoot. “I’m going to take a walk.” Hanzo says. His footsteps quickly dwindle away. The night falls quiet once more, safe for the wind, the sea, and the crickets. Angela waits a few more minutes, and then very, very quietly walks away.

Halfway around the watchpoint grounds, Angela turns a corner and almost walks right into Hanzo. Hanzo, on the other hand, stands tall, arms crossed across his chest. He evidently heard her coming. He glares.

Angela takes a few steps back, and pauses to form her thoughts. She can’t think of anything to say. Finally, a word weakly escapes her lips. “Hello.” She winces at the somewhat pathetic sound.

“Hmph.” Hanzo’s glare only deepens. He lets the unhappy silence stretch on.

Angela sighs. “You’re never going to change your mind about me, are you?”

“After you turned my brother into half a man? No.”

“Better half a living one than a whole dead one.” Angela stands there for a few moments longer. When she sees Hanzo clearly doesn’t intend to reply, she just walks around him. Hanzo watches her, but makes no move to stop her. Before Angela reaches the next corner, she looks over her shoulder. Hanzo has still not moved. She turns the corner, and disappears from sight.

 

* * *

 

“You’re really always up this early.” Awe tinges Lena’s voice as she looks into the training room.

“You’re not?” Fareeha checks the time. “It’s only 5:30.”

“I mean, I used to, but I’ve been sleeping in lately you know.” Lena beams. “Sleeping in with Em is nice.”

“It does sound nice.” Fareeha sets her weights down. “How is she, by the way?”

“Em? Oh she’s good! Kind of sad, you know, but good!” Lena sighs. “I was recalled kind of suddenly.”

“That must have been hard.” Fareeha picks up a nearby towel and wipes the sweat off of her brow.

“We’ve been through worse.” Lena shrugs. “Appreciate the sentiment though. But anyways, I was actually going to ask how it’s been around here.”

“What is there to say? It’s been fine.” Fareeha drapes her towel across her shoulders. “I’ve just been training and practicing, mostly. Preparing.”

“Oh, you off soon?” Lena leans against a nearby dumbbell rack. “Where to?”

Fareeha hesitates, but decides Lena’s trustworthy enough. “Oasis, in two days. With Genji, Satya, and Angela.”

“Yeah? Sounds interesting. Well, nice talking with ya, gotta go though. You know, run around and see if anyone else is up. Does Bastion sleep, do you think?”

“Bastion? I suppose they can, but I’m not sure if they do.”

“Well, I’ll go find out then!” Lena waves cheerfully and disappears with a flash of light. A few seconds later, she reappears. “Wait, wait that wasn’t actually what I wanted to talk about.” She sidles up to Fareeha and throws an arm across her shoulders. “Three things. First, she likes you more than you think. Second, be really nice! Third, speak honestly and from your heart, and everyone will feel better in the end.”

“She? Who’s—” Before Fareeha can finish her sentence, Lena blinks off again, pausing briefly in the doorway.

“Good luck!” She calls, and gives Fareeha a thumbs up. Then, she disappears again, leaving a very perplexed Fareeha standing in the middle of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to move this along faster from now on. I've never been satisfied with how I'm pacing this, so I'll be making a conscious effort to change that!


	20. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's trying her best.

When you’re up thousands of feet in the air, when the world and all its people drop away, it gives you a new perspective. It seems so quiet, so peaceful down on the ground. Angela sighs. If only. At her side, Fareeha turns and gives her a curious look. She shakes her head slightly.  _ It’s nothing. _

“We are currently approaching Oasis. Estimated arrival time is 4:30 local time. We will begin our descent shortly—please stay seated and keep your seatbelt on. Thank you.” Angela sighs again, heavier this time. 

Fareeha gives her another look. After a moment of contemplation, she touches Angela lightly on the arm. “You know, we should talk sometime.”

Angela gives her a quizzical look. “Talk? About what?”

“I don’t know. Birds?” Fareeha almost stumbles over her words. For some inane reason, she hadn’t expected a reply. 

Angela covers her mouth, barely hiding a wide smile. “Birds?”

Fareeha tries to ignore the burning in her face. “You… um… watch the seagulls a lot, so I thought…”

This time, Angela does laugh, though she does it quietly. “They’re kind of endearing, I think.”

“Are they?” Fareeha relaxes. Angela doesn’t have that look on her face anymore, and that’s good enough.  _ Mission accomplished _ .

“Seagulls.” Satya, sitting on Fareeha’s other side, exhales sharply through her nose in a kind of half scoff. “You could find a better bird to admire. They eat trash, steal, and squabble constantly.”

“True, but they are very pretty, don’t you think?” Angela, seemingly unperturbed, traces the shape of a bird in the air. “The long wings, for example. It’s weird, but they’re very aerodynamic, you know? I wish I could fly like that.” She elbows Fareeha lightly. “Guess I can get pretty close, nowadays. Fareeha presses her lips together, half because she doesn’t trust herself to reply, and half because she’s trying not to suddenly choke on thin air.

Satya’s face is unreadable. “I suppose they are important to the environment.” She says at last, and turns back to her book. The pages shimmer with holographic words.

“For your original statement…” Angela tilts her head slightly, so she can look up at Fareeha directly in the face. “We can talk about birds sometime. I think I’d like it.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha unclenches her jaw; she didn’t remember clenching it in the first place. Her shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah.” She’s saved from having to say anything more by the captain over the plane’s intercom.

 

* * *

 

Silver, cream, and gold, shimmering with light and covered in flowers and trees, Oasis lived up to its name when Angela had visited in the past. Now, even with an exponentially greater population, it still did. Instead of pausing to admire it all, Angela simply grits her teeth, ducks her head, and moves with all the purpose and briskness of a woman that knows where she needs to go, how to get there, and how much she doesn’t want to be in the place she currently is.

Satya and Fareeha, on the other hand, are far more impressed, forcing Angela to (reluctantly) slow down. Fareeha gives the road a curious glance when she steps out of the airport, a glance that Satya catches. “Oasis controls its climate in many ways, one of those being the alteration of air temperature with a system built into its roads,” she explains.

“Impressive.” Fareeha raises her eyebrows and scans the road again. There is nothing to suggest it isn’t a normal street.

“Very.” For the first time, Fareeha notices Satya seems almost… starry eyed. “This city is a marvel of engineering. In fact, originally, it was no different from the rest of the desert around it. There was no special natural resource to build around; everything that you see here is a product of pure human innovation. Vishkar would love to have a presence here. We have been working on that for a long time.”

“I can imagine.” Fareeha looks Satya up and down, then looks at the city. She fits right in. 

“I hate to interrupt, but we have a bus to catch.” Angela, who had walked ahead and then doubled back, inserts herself between the two and looks pointedly at a passing bus. “Hotel first, everything else later. Alright?” Without waiting for any sort of affirmation, she turns and begins pushing through the crowd again.

Fareeha chuckles. “She’s going to throttle the two of us if we don’t get a move on,” she says as she moves to follow Angela.

“I sincerely doubt it,” Satya mutters, but she trails after. 

Angela keeps her impatient, somewhat snappy mood all the way until everyone’s checked in. Immediately after entering the hotel room, she collapses on a bed and groans, practically deflating. Fareeha, still standing in the doorway, laughs. “You really don’t like this place, do you?”

“I already told you, it’s not that I don’t like it, it’s just… listen, I’m not getting sucked into another hour long debate on the street regarding the usage and structure of—” She cuts off and waves her hand vaguely in the air. “You know.”

“I really don’t.” Fareeha closes the door.

“Pretend that you do.” Angela puts her hand down, draping it dramatically across her head.

“I’ll try my best.” Fareeha smirks, but then her face shifts, becoming more serious. Her voice lowers. “Right now, we need to make sure everything’s secure.”

Angela lifts her hand off her face and raises her head, briefly making eye contact with Fareeha. “Of course.” She stands back up.

 

It takes the better part of an hour to scan the room from top to bottom, sweeping it for anything that isn’t supposed to be there. When it all comes up clean, Fareeha goes next door to help Satya with the same process. Just to make sure, Satya also scans Fareeha and Angela’s room with her own technology. Again, everything comes up clean.

“Well, now that that’s done, I’m content.” Angela flops back onto her bed. “You two can go… sightsee or whatever. I’d like a nap.”

“We are obligated to keep at least one of us with you at all times.” Satya speaks before Fareeha can even draw breath to reply. “Additionally, we still have to check in with Genji.”

Angela brings her hands to her face, and lets out a very deep sigh. After a very long silence, she gives in. “You’re right, of course,” she rummages around in her pockets, and pulls out a small earpiece. She puts it in, and taps it once. “Hello Genji.”

“Hello Angela. Did everything go smoothly?”

“Yes.”

“Great! Well, I have a little bit of information for you three to work with. It’s less than I would have liked, but we can make do. First, I have to say it all seems very benign. I’ve struggled to find any routes by which information can be tampered with or hidden; indeed the library seems to be open to anyone and everyone. However, as part of their predictive system, the robots that help with the running of the library record everything they see. If one truly wants to be secretive, one must do research without their help. Second, there is some sort of tension between the Ministries of Tourism, Engineering, and Transportation. Essentially, Tourism and Transportation want some road work done, and Engineering either can’t or won’t. They’re trying to get the Ministry of Geology to back them up, as Geology is responsible for the greater part of the climate control in the city, including the roads. I also sent all of you a chart on the organizational system of the library, in case you weren’t familiar. It’s very standard.” 

“I see.” Angela says. “That really isn’t a lot.”

“We hardly need anything more. It is a simple assignment.” Satya chips in. “For you, at least.” She adds, after a small pause.

“Is that all?” Fareeha asks.

“Just about.” Genji replies. “One last thing: there’s a subway system that can take you out of the city. They run every hour on the half hour between 6AM-10PM, and every other hour outside of that period. If things go bad for whatever reason, get yourself to safety by any means necessary of course, but the subways seem to be the most easily reached and reliable option.”

“Great.” Angela taps the comm again, disconnecting herself. “Now I can take a nap and you can go do whatever you want.”

Fareeha and Satya exchange a glance. “I’ll stay. You’ve got more things to do, and I’m the one that’s sharing the room anyways.” Fareeha quickly says.

“Very well.” Satya nods curtly and turns to go.

Angela raises her head again. “You guys make it sound like you’re babysitting me.”

Fareeha turns and gives her a wry smile. “We kind of are.” Satya, on the other hand, doesn’t comment, instead choosing to step out the door and walk briskly down the hall.

Angela makes a face at Fareeha. “Oh now I’m offended.”

“But really, if you want to sleep, go ahead. I have plenty of things to keep me busy.” As if to prove her point, Fareeha pulls out her phone and begins typing something on it.

Angela rolls her eyes, but sits up. “I suppose that means I get the shower?”

“Mmhmm.” Fareeha sits down at the room’s single desk. “Go for it.”

 

When Angela wakes up, the room is dim, with only a faint orange light peeking through the blinds. Fareeha still sits at the desk, though now there’s what appears to be a box of takeout shoved into one corner, and the lamp is on. She turns her head and squints at the clock. It cheerfully displays “9:47 PM” in lime green. She mutters something under her breath. “ _ Gopfertammi. _ ”

“Language.” Fareeha says.

“What do you mean?” Angela sits up and runs a few fingers through the new tangles in her hair. Fareeha looks over her shoulder, and Angela gives her an innocent look. She snorts.

“You really are bad at this.”

“Again, I have no idea what you mean.” Angela lifts her chin.

Fareeha looks back to the screen in front of her with a roll of the eyes. “Glad to see you awake.”

“Were you here the entire time? I’m sorry.” Angela swings her legs over the edge of the bed, and hops to her feet. “I was expecting to be awake in half an hour. Maybe 45 minutes at most.”

“Like I said, I have plenty of things to do.” Fareeha looks down at the display and her shoulders droop momentarily in exhaustion. “But Satya did come back about two hours ago with some late dinner.” She nods at the box. “And I got to stretch my legs and familiarize myself with the immediate surroundings.”

“I see.” Angela wanders over to the desk and picks up the box of food. “By the way, aren’t you usually asleep by now?”

Fareeha looks up again, catching Angela’s eye. “How would you know that?”

“Going to sleep at 9 and getting up at 5 seems to be pretty standard for people in this line of work.” Angela gestures around vaguely. “Also, when you come check on me and tell me to go to sleep, it’s always been around 9 with the exception of the one time at 10:30-ish.” Angela takes a bit of her food, seemingly oblivious to the expression on Fareeha’s face.

“You—you act like I do that a lot.” Fareeha finally says, struggling desperately to keep her voice even.

“You’ve done it more than a few times.” Angela smiles at Fareeha, and then turns away, wandering over to a chair on the other side of the small room.

Fareeha watches her, then looks down and whispers something under her breath. “ _ Khara. _ ”

Angela stops and looks over her shoulder. “Language!” She says, loudly.

“What do you mean?” Fareeha says, with a perfectly straight face.

“Nice try! I’ve spent enough time around Ana to pick some things up.” Angela sticks out her tongue. “So you’re at a disadvantage.”

“Am I going to have to get creative?” Fareeha sinks lower into her chair and grumbles something under her breath.  


“Not really, I’ll admit.” Angela sits down in her chair. “She only taught me a few.” 

Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “She  _ taught  _ you?”

Angela shrugs. “Rather, she’d say something and I’d look at her curiously. Sometimes she’d explain it, and sometimes she’d just laugh.” 

Fareeha turns, slinging an arm around the back of her chair. She looks Angela up and down. Finally, she says, “I can see why.” Angela gives her a dirty look. Fareeha grins, and goes back to her work. “I’m up because I have to write this report.”

“Fun.”

“I’ll be done soon anyways.” Fareeha looks up again. “Far be it from me to tell you what’s good for you, but you should probably go back to sleep soon.”

“And you claim to not do this very often.” Angela tries (and fails) to hide the amusement in her voice.

“It’s different when we have to share a room.”

“Well anyways, I plan to be asleep again in about an hour.” Angela twists the cap off of a water bottle and takes a sip. 

“Fantastic.” Fareeha flicks her fingers, and sends the projection away. She closes the computer and pushes it away from her. “Well, I’m going to go take a shower and go to sleep.”

“Mmhm.” Angela drops her box into the trash, and then takes Fareeha’s spot at the desk. “My turn to write a report.”

Fareeha opens the bathroom door and pauses. “Telling Winston we’re not dead?”

“Indeed.” Angela pulls out her phone. It seems that when she said “write a report” she really meant “text Winston”. “Good night,” she adds, eyes already trained on the screen.

“Night.”

Angela idly listens to the sounds in the room behind her as she works. First the sound of water, then the rustling of sheets. Then, only breathing and the air conditioner. After 30 minutes, Angela cocks her head and listens more intently. The night is quiet. At last, she shuts down the computer and produces a book, flipping it open to a marked section. She reads quietly by the dim lamplight for a short time, then quietly gets up and turns out the light.

Fareeha cracks her eye open as the lamp goes out, leaving the room illuminated only by the faint light seeping through the blinds. She listens, keeping her breathing slow and even. Quiet footsteps, and then slightly louder ones as slippers touch tile. A pause. The sound of the sink. Fareeha tilts her head slightly and checks the time. A light smile touches her lips before she sinks into sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Angela sits up and blearily squints her eyes in the morning light. The familiar sound of city traffic drifts through the window, and for a moment she's struck by a vivid memory of waking up very, very hungover. She grimaces and quickly scans the nightstand, desk, and cabinet, dragging fingers through her hair at the same time.

“Well, look who’s awake!” Fareeha says as she emerges from the bathroom. She runs a thumb over the copper and gold in her hair before folding her arms across her chest and throwing Angela a grin. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Angela looks Fareeha up and down and scowls. “Do you just wake up like that?” 

Fareeha looks down at herself. “I don’t sleep in jeans and a jacket, if that’s what you mean.”

Angela grabs her hairbrush from where it had been left on the nightstand the night before. She points it at Fareeha’s chest. “You’ll know exactly what I mean in a few minutes.” She marches off. “I’ll be in the bathroom cursing my hair.” 

“Cursing?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “I’ll make sure to take notes.” As if to prove her point, she fishes her phone out of her pocket. Angela gives her a withering look.

Several minutes later, Angela emerges, having (mostly) tamed her hair. She gathers up some clothes and disappears again, reemerging a little more bright eyed than before. “Let’s swing by a cafe or something and get a coffee and something to eat before we head over to the library.” She says, snatching up her glasses and a room key before turning to the door. She pauses there, and looks over her shoulder at Fareeha.

“Alright then. I’ll leave a note for Satya.” Fareeha glances at the now bright sunshine slipping under the bottom of the curtains and clips a pair of aviator sunglasses to the front of her shirt. “Have any place in particular in mind?”

“Yep.” Angela turns and pushes the door open. “It’s on the way to the library anyways.” Fareeha casts a last glance around the room before following.

Despite the busy nature of the city, there are comparatively few people in the hotel itself. Angela and Fareeha see no one in the hall or elevator, and only a handful lingering in the lobby. The streets, however, are a different story. The two step outside to face a river of people, all hurrying this way and that, all determined to get somewhere else as quickly as they can.

Angela offers Fareeha a hand. “Let’s not get separated.”

Fareeha stiffens and stares at it for a moment, but hastily reaches out and clasps it firmly in her left hand. “Where to?”

“This way.” Angela jerks her head down the street to the right, and tugs Fareeha into the fray. The sounds of the city wash over them; a thick cloud of voices, in many languages, mixed with the beeping and hum of cars and sprinkled with bird calls from the trees by the waterside. Angela puts her head down as she walks, but Fareeha keeps her eyes up and ears open. So it is that while Angela leads the way, Fareeha ends up gently adjusting her trajectory with a tug here, and push there, carefully steering the two through the sea of people.

An omnic appears in the crowd walking in the opposite direction. They are unassuming enough; Fareeha doesn’t particularly notice them during her regular sweeping glances over the crowd. They clutch a book bag almost nervously to their chest, seemly afraid the heavy foot traffic will tear it from their arms. As the omnic approaches, it does a double take and stops in its tracks. “Dr. Ziegler!” 

Fareeha can see Angela briefly steel herself before she puts on a smile and turns. The omnic rushes on before she can say anything, optics glowing brightly. “I was not aware that you were here! I, um, love your work; I think it is quite intriguing! Have you heard about the research that’s been going on with hard light engineering and procedures on the microscopic level?” They duck their head shyly. “If, um, you don’t mind me asking.”

“Of course. I’ve been following it closely. Vishkar has been trying to establish themselves here in part because of ongoing research into it, haven’t they?” Angela rushes on before the omnic can reply. “As much as I’d like to talk, I really need to go. Busy day, you know. Nice to meet you, bye!” As soon as she finishes talking, she tightens her grasp on Fareeha’s hand and all but drags her off.

“Yeah! Nice to meet you too!” The omnic waves, seemly oblivious to the passerby they just hit with their elbow. Angela walks faster.

 

The quiet of the cafe is both sudden and welcoming. The door jingles cheerfully as Angela opens it. It closes gently behind Fareeha, instantly muffling the sound from the street almost completely. The omnic behind the counter spares only a moment to give the two an acknowledging look before going back to making a large cup of coffee with a generous amount of milk and cream.

Fareeha eyes Angela thoughtfully for a moment, noting the tension apparent in just about every place she looks. “Want to tell me your order and go find a quiet spot to sit?”

Angela’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah. Sure. Just… get me a… um, cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso? And… a sandwich.”

“What kind?”

Angela shrugs. “I don’t care. Pick whatever you’d like.” Without another word, she hurries off, moving to the far left corner, the quietest one in the establishment. Fareeha watches her go, and shakes her head before turning her gaze to the counter.

Angela sits down at a small table in the corner and stares blankly out the window. Fareeha appears a few minutes later with food, disappears, and reappears with coffee. She slides into the seat across from Angela and follows her gaze. Finding nothing, she turns back to Angela.

“Hey.” Her voice is low, and soft.

Angela blinks and shakes her head, as if coming out of a trance. “Hey.” She hesitates, then rubs her temples and closes her eyes. “Sorry. I suppose I’m just in a bad mood today.”

“Happens to the best of us. Do you need to take some time?” Fareeha looks out the window again. “There are pigeons out there! Not the same as seagulls, but,” she shrugs, trying to be nonchalant.

Angela looks up, and meets Fareeha’s eyes. The sunlight pouring through the window makes the bottom edge of her irises glow with a certain warmth. It plays in her hair, sleek and smooth, and outlines her neatly against the cool blues of the morning’s shadows. Angela smiles. “I think I’ll be fine.”

 

* * *

 

“Hey Pharah! How you doin’?” Lena’s chirpy voice streams out of the phone.

“You were right.” Fareeha mumbles.

“Of course I was!” Lena pauses. “I know all about… whatever I’m right about.”

“She’s… I don’t…” Fareeha trails off and shakes her head. She glances towards the door, briefly pulling the phone away to check for any noises. When she doesn’t hear anything, she puts the phone back to her ear just in time to hear Lena’s reply.

“Oh. Oooohhhhh  _ that _ .” Lena laughs. “It’s been a lil’ obvious luv. Angie’s real cute, yeah?”

“Obvious?” Fareeha can feel the heat in her face.

“To me, yeah. I’ve been through it all before, you know? Back when me and Em first met.” Lena laughs.

“When you… first met.” Fareeha winces.

“You sound like you wanna talk about something in particular.”

“I…” Fareeha closes her eyes. “I guess it wasn’t the first time we met but it might as well have been. We, well, kind of got off on the wrong foot.” When Lena doesn’t respond, Fareeha hesitantly continues. “And yet, she acts like that first stretch of time never happened. She’s so friendly. I’m confused.”

“Angie’s kind of like that. You talked to her about it yet?”

“No.” Fareeha eyes the door again. “I’m…”

“... Scared?” Lena waits, and when she doesn’t get a response she pushes on. “Thinkin’ about all the mistakes you’ve made and hoping maybe she forgot? Or just not wanting to think about it? Again, I know the feeling. Jack used to tell me to slow down and think my actions through more. Never did, of course, but I used to be an absolute twit. Em’ll tell you all about it if you ask. Where’s she now, by the way?” Lena’s voice doesn’t get any slower or softer; she talks as fast and as energetically as she always does. But there are notes of sincerity and genuine experience in her voice. For just a moment, Fareeha thinks she hears the slightest bit of wistfulness. Nostalgia, almost. “Er, Angie, not Em, to clarify.” It’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Talking with Winston and Satya about what she’s learned already. Discussing the implications of every little detail.” Fareeha looks furtively at the door again.

“On day one? The big guy’s real nervous about all this, isn’t he? But anyways, remember what I said to you before you left? The last one.”

“Be honest?”

“That’s the one! Nice memory!” Lena’s voice becomes serious. “Listen, if you care about her, talk to her about it. You owe it to her at the very least.”

“I know.” Fareeha picks at the cuff of her sleeve. She sounds almost… pained.

“Hey, If you’re really not sure, talk to Genji about it.”

“Genji?” Fareeha stops, and raises an eyebrow.

“He’s never told you about it? You’re not the only one that’s had some rocky early history with Angela.”

“I… see.” Fareeha sighs, suddenly aware of how much she didn’t know about these people, about the Overwatch of days gone by. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime! Girls are weird, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, good luck! I gotta run; hittin’ up the pub with Jesse. Maybe even Hanzo.”

“Hanzo? Good luck.” Fareeha snorts. “Have fun.”

“Roger that!” With one last cheerful word, the call goes silent.

Fareeha slowly lowers her phone, and stares at the door. Her thoughts are hesitant. She begins to form some words in her mouth, but even here, alone and unobserved, they die in her throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gopfertammi" means "God damn me"  
> "Khara" means "shit"
> 
> Writing these two swearing in particular is actually kind of difficult; it's hard to find resources that specify the dialect of the language, and usually the lists are short and escalate quickly. In keeping with the Overwatch... style? I don't want to use very severe language, and if the resource that I find doesn't tell me what constitutes as friendly banter and what is more often a genuine insult, I can't really trust myself to use it. I'm trying my best, but as always, if you notice a mistake with the translations, let me know!
> 
> On a different note, I've been gone for the last two weeks, and while I did manage to get a lot of writing done, I... didn't stop to edit any of it, nor did I have internet access, so I still have to research and fill in some parts. But! Hopefully the next chapter or two can be published quicker than usual!


	21. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are coming along, slowly. But the world doesn't wait for anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said this would be out sooner than usual and then took almost an entire week to do it I'm so sorry OTL

_ He opened his eyes slowly, giving his systems a few moments to boot up. When it all came up green, he slowly began to flex every finger, to test every joint. They moved smoothly, and without delay _

_ “Everything alright?” Dr. Ziegler stood to the side at the head of the operating table. Genji turned and watched as she finished writing something down, and then turned to smile at him. _

_ “... Yes.” He turned to look at the ceiling. _

_ “Good.” Angela touched him lightly on the arm. “Let me know if anything comes up. And tell Reyes—” _

_ “—Reyes doesn’t know.” Genji sat up, apparently unaware of the look on Angela’s face. “It is clear to me now that he will never act any more on my clan or my brother. I have no reason to stay.” _

_ Angela spoke slowly. “I… see. I hope you find someplace better than here. Or someone.” _

_ For the first time in a long time, he hesitated. “Goodbye, Angela.” _

 

* * *

 

“I thought I smelled an insufferable sense of moral superiority.” Moira steps around and corner and looks down her nose at Angela. “I heard our  _ guardian angel  _ was in town. How unexpected.”

“Did you come all the way here  _ just  _ to bother me?” Angela flips a page, pointedly not even looking at Moira. “I’m flattered.”

“How very like you to assume that you’re the only reason I’d be here.” 

“ _ I _ merely assumed that you have nothing better to do.” Angela shrugs. “But if you  _ do _ , by all means, go do it. Where I don’t have to listen to you.”

Moira chooses to ignore this. “So, Overwatch sends a little group to Oasis on a  _ research _ mission. Tell me, which of the boys came with you, hm?” Angela finally looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Come now Angela, Winston was designed to be smart. I’m curious, who’s sniffing around in the shadows?”

“No one.” Fareeha says, emerging from behind the shelf. She glances at Angela, and then fixes Dr. O’Deorain with a hard look. 

Moira looks up a wry smirk lightly touching her lips. “Oh, one of Helix’s brave, honorable soldiers turned Overwatch lapdog.” Angela’s grip tightens, her knuckles whitening. Moira looks Fareeha in the eyes, studying her with a markedly unsettling gaze. “Nevertheless, I suppose I must take your word for it. You seem inclined to tell the truth. Which is more than can be said about our good doctor here. How long have you known her, I wonder? No, it makes no difference.” Moira narrows her eyes. “She’d never tell you anything worthwhile.”

Angela snorts. “You speak as if you have some sort of moral high ground.” 

Moira’s gaze slides over to Angela. Her lip curls. “You and I both know exactly what I’m talking about. But even then, I’ve never claimed to adhere to the restrictions set by Overwatch and so many others. You, on the other hand, have. Don’t lie to me, Angela. Fear is what holds you back, not the law.”

Angela looks at Moira flatly. “Aren’t we talkative today. Besides,” she flips another page, “I’m guided by the law, not held back by it.”

“Shame. Your intelligence is truly wasted on you.” Moira looks over to Fareeha. “Think carefully, captain. It’s never too late.” With that, she whips around and stalks out of the room.

Fareeha watches her go. “You seriously employed her?”

“Overwatch made a lot of mistakes.” Angela stiffly turns back to her book. “Speaking of which, we need to be more careful. She’s former  _ Blackwatch _ .” Angela spits out the name as if it were poison. She moves to take a note, but the fire in her eyes doesn’t die down. 

Fareeha opens her mouth as if to speak. She hesitates, then closes it again. Instead, she just quietly returns to her own spot, and sits back down, unease boiling in her stomach.

 

* * *

 

Genji swings himself through the window with practiced ease, quickly dropping to the floor and crouching there. Fareeha eyes him with amusement as she closes the window and draws the blinds. He bounces to his feet as soon as she’s done.

“Ah, nice and sand-free.” Genji stretches and cheerfully shakes his right arm, dislodging some fine, pale grains from his joints.

“Not anymore.” Fareeha says, watching them hit the floor. “So, looking for Angela?”

“Yes.” Genji rubs the back of his head. “I’m going to get quite a lecture for this…”

“For breaking one of the most complex parts of your body?” Fareeha leans back against the room’s small table. “I can imagine. She’s talking to Satya about the whole thing, by the way, so you’ll have to wait a bit.”

“That’s fine! But, you know what this is? The Raptora suits do not use them, do they?” 

Fareeha shrugs. “No, but I think it’s interesting. Additionally, Angela spent a full minute cursing under her breath until I asked her to clarify.”

“I see.” Genji sits down and awkwardly positions his left arm on the desk. A small panel flips up on his forearm. He looks at it thoughtfully. “So, anything to report today? It seems none of us have had time to write anything down yet.”

Fareeha sighs. “Met Dr. O’Deorain.”

“Moira? She must have heard that we were here.” Genji hums, and goes back to looking over his arm. “What do you think of her?”

Fareeha wrinkles her nose. “I don’t like her.”

“I would have thought less of you otherwise. Did she say anything interesting?”

“She seemed to only care about antagonizing Angela.” Fareeha replies.

“Oh? So the usual then?” Genji produces one of his shurikens and prods at something. Fareeha watches with more than a little alarm. “Those two were constantly trying to provoke the other in picking a fight. It seems time has not changed that.”

“She did ask which of ‘the boys’ was in the city. I presume she meant either you or Jesse?”

“You would presume right. In hindsight, we should have expected that.” Genji puts down his shuriken and taps his chin thoughtfully. “I will have to be much more careful.”

“Mm.” Fareeha sinks into silence for a few minutes. “You know, when I was told they didn’t like each other…”

Genji looks at Fareeha and laughs. “An understatement, to be sure. No, they despise each other with almost unmatched ferocity.”

“I was ready to break up a fistfight.”

Genji laughs again. “Don’t worry, they both are fully capable of exercising restraint. They have not had a chance to come to blows yet, and for that I am glad. For now, expect the usual pettiness and squabbling.”

Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “Pettiness?”

“Angela once called Moira a filthy rat. She then revised that into ‘greasy weasel’, stating that it would be cruel to liken her to any sort of lab animal—cruel to her test subjects, that is. Moira likes rabbits rather more than rats, but the implication is there anyways. ‘You’re so awful to your animals that you couldn’t possibly have any reason to empathize with them.’ Moira responded by naming one of her rabbits ‘Angela’, acting like it was the real Angela, and completely refusing to acknowledge Angela’s existence. Angela, in turn, spoke of Moira only with the term ‘weasel’, modified by a variety of Swiss German words that I can only guess at the meaning and severity of. Oh, and she also ‘accidentally’ blocked Moira out of nearly the entire system.” Fareeha whistles. Genji continues, “This went on until Jack stepped in.”

“Jack? Jack Morrison?” Fareeha raises her eyebrows. “Strike Commander Jack Morrison?”

“That’s the one.” Genji laughs. “Angela was head of the entire medical branch, including both field medicine and research. There weren’t actually very many that outranked her. Ana wouldn’t do it; she thought the whole thing was rather funny, and agreed with Angela besides.” Fareeha practically pricks her ears at the mention of her mother. “It wasn’t really Reyes’ problem, so it was left to Jack to sort the whole mess out. Since it had actually majorly affected the functionality of the medical division, he was pretty mad. He came down hard on the both of them, and from then on they’ve kept their feuding and their work mostly separate.”

“...That’s…” Fareeha trails off. She has nothing to say, concentrating instead on reconciling the story with the relatively friendly, professional behavior she’d come to expect from Angela while working. “Huh.”

“Huh.” Genji agrees. “You should ask Angela about it if you want to know more. She’ll gladly tell you all about it.”

“I see.” Fareeha turns her next sentence over in her mind a few times, tentatively working out the exact wording. “Are you still in a storytelling mood?”

Genji, who had gone back to fiddling with his arm, looks up again. “Depends.”

Fareeha hesitates, and then pushes on. “So, speaking of Angela, what was your…” She stops, and shakes her head slightly. “I’m told your relationship with her was…”

“Rough?” Genji cocks his head. Evidently, he sees some sort of affirmation in Fareeha’s face. “It is the only word I can think of which would describe it.” He sighs, and sits back.

“If you would prefer not to share—”

“No.” Genji interrupts. “I do not fear looking back on that part of my life anymore.” He sighs again. “I merely wonder where to begin. From the beginning, I suppose. I shall tell you what I told Zenyatta years ago. Be warned,” he laughs, “I got long winded then and I have no doubt I’ll be long winded now.” Fareeha doesn’t reply; she merely sits down in the other chair.

“We met under very dire circumstances, as I’m sure you know.” Genji chuckles. “To say the least. My brother had just finished trying to kill me. He ran off, leaving me alone and hanging onto life by a mere thread. Overwatch came in and got me out. Angela was the one who kept me alive. I have been told that she was the only one who could have done it—such was the extent of both my injuries and her skill. I drifted in and out of consciousness for weeks. 

When I finally was lucid enough to understand what was around me, I found myself lying in a hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and tubes. Angela stepped through the door maybe a minute later. She calmly told me where I was, and who she was. I didn’t stay awake long enough to ask anything else. The next time I woke up, she was sitting at my bedside, writing something down on a clipboard. She looked up and smiled and asked me how I felt, and I asked her how bad it was.” Genji falls silent, and takes a moment to collect himself before continuing. “She broke it all to me gently, but honestly. I didn’t know how to feel, at the time. In contrast, the next time I woke up all I could feel was bitter fury. For the brother that had tried to kill me. For the father that had died and put that brother in charge. For the world that had allowed it to happen. I hated everything and everyone. Except Angela. Because she saved my life. I considered her to be my best and only friend.” Genji sits back and looks up at the ceiling. “Which was both irrational and embarrassing, I have to say.

And then? Then Reyes happened. He wanted to make me a living weapon. Why replace my body if they could make it better? I was so hell bent on revenge that I agreed to it almost immediately. It ended up being just another thing to make me angry. Now, not only was I half a man, I was also half a machine, and a whole of neither. There were prosthetics. And then there was me: some sort of abomination that the world had never seen before. I hated the world, I hated myself, and I wanted only revenge. As for Angela? She was in charge of my health, so she had to deal with me. I was an absolute brat, and I’m sorry to say that I snapped at her numerous times. She didn’t seem to hold it against me, for some reason, and actually continued to be my best friend. I only realize now how sad I made her.” 

“It does seem unlike her, to do an operation like that.” Fareeha says, softly. “You called yourself a living weapon? That’s thoroughly against her moral code, isn’t it?” 

“Indeed. She was, however, ordered to do it, and since I had agreed to it she couldn’t refuse. Pretty recently, actually, I asked her if she would have done it now. She didn’t hesitate.” Genji pauses.

Fareeha waits. Finally, she takes the bait. “What did she say?”

“No. Without a doubt.” Genji picks up his shuriken and contemplates it. “Working around the clock to save my life? Absolutely. But installing all of this?” He gestures vaguely at his body. “No. She regrets not fighting the decision more. She said she would have rather resigned on the spot than have gone through with it, in hindsight.”

“Awkward.”

“Perhaps.” Genji shrugs. “But we both realize that it was in the past. She can tell me that my body was one of her biggest regrets, and I can say ‘I know’, and we can both still be good friends. She doesn’t blame me for it, and I don’t blame her.”

As if one queue, Angela opens the door, with Satya on her heels. She smiles at Fareeha, and then turns to Genji with a much sterner expression. “So, what sort of trouble have you been up to now?”

“What? Nothing!” Genji exclaims. “I was just talking to her!”

“It’s true.” Fareeha stands up, and eyes the still open panel in Genji’s arm. “Mostly.”

Angela shakes her head. “I’m sure you must have  _ somehow _ broken that by talking too much then?” She strides across the room, Satya following at a slightly slower pace.

“Oh you mean this?” Genji hurriedly stows his shuriken and holds out his arm. “I was… er… that is to say, I lost my grip on one of the airships.”

“And?” Angela grabs Genji’s hand and pulls it closer to her, straightening his arm. Fareeha stands up, offering Angela her seat. She accepts with a grateful nod before quickly pulling out and putting on a pair of glasses.

“And, I fell into the water.” Genji says, very, very quietly. Angela looks over the top of her glasses at him. “I hit my arm against the edge of a canal in the process, and then sank and stayed more or less submerged for about an hour.”

Angela looks over her shoulder. “Satya, If you would?” Satya nods and holds out her hand, blue light forming into a small white object. She tosses it into the air, where it hangs suspended, and then splits into 4 parts. They produce a blue plane of light, each piece becoming a corner. The projection is blank for a moment, then there’s a brief loading wheel and suddenly Tobjörn’s face fills the screen. Fareeha quickly pulls up another chair for Satya, then backs away to give them space.

“Let’s see what we have here.” Angela says, as all three peer down and frown. Genji, meanwhile, settles back, his lights slowly dimming until they are completely dark.

Fareeha stands back and watches with interest. The three converse quietly for some time, and seem to come to a consensus. Angela produces some small tools, with anything she doesn’t have supplemented by Satya. Angela goes to work, a look of intense concentration on her face, then sits back, and they all look at it and start discussing it again. 

Fareeha, in the back, looks at the only thing she can: the people. She observes how Satya points with little needles of light, how she idly touches her earrings when she thinks, how Torbjörn huffs and bristles and strokes his beard, and how every so often Angela stops to tuck her hair behind her ear and push up her glasses. Fareeha shakes her head, and wanders off to make some tea. They were likely going to be there for a while.

Fareeha scrutinizes the complimentary options arranged on a counter by the door, then shakes her head and grabs her jacket. She looks back at the door at the three people clustered around the far corner. Satya briefly catches her eye and inclines her head. Fareeha nods back, steps out into the hall, and silently closes the door. She lingers for a moment, fingers lightly drifting across the handle. Aside from the beeping of cars on the street below, she hears nothing. She looks down the hall both ways, up into the ceiling, and down into the floor. Nothing. Satisfied, Fareeha finally heads for the stairs.

Like any city, Oasis lights up after dark. Points and columns of gold and white are shot through with the occasional neon sign, outlining everything with a stark light. The trees each bear a ring of bright white light, which in turn line the streets, separating the red, blue, and yellow of the cars from the buildings across the sidewalk. If it is any less busy during the night it is by a barely noticeable amount—a steady stream of people flows through the main streets, pushing by under the blinking lights of airships and skyscrapers alike. 

Fareeha walks down to the waterside, to the oasis of Oasis. Lights from boats shine across the water, and the moon cuts a rippling path through; a little beam of white that seems to follow Fareeha’s feet. The stores advertise themselves with neon signs and little lanterns hung out front, windows spilling bands of an artificial daylight onto the sidewalk. Fareeha looks inside each building as she passes, silently scanning the inside before invariably moving on. Almost half an hour passes before she finally stops in front of a small shop. A vivacious, potted, flowering plant hangs next to the door alongside a warm orange lantern, inviting customers in.

A bell tinkers lightly overhead as Fareeha pushes open the door. Behind the counter, an omnic brightens and straightens up from where they had been cleaning the counter. “Welcome! Let me know if I can help you with anything!” When Fareeha nods but doesn’t say anything else, they go back to wiping down the countertop. A tiny radio at their side plays quiet music. Classical, from the sounds of it.

Fareeha walks slowly down the aisles in the tea section, reading the boxes and stopping occasionally to close her eyes, breathe deeply, and think. After a few moments, she opens her eyes and moves on, going back to thoughtfully scanning the labels. She methodically works her way through the whole section, then circles back and stops in the 2nd aisle. As she stands near the end, eyeing a box, a voice pipes up at her shoulder.

“I can open one if you want a sample.” Fareeha jumps and whirls, hands moving instinctively to her waist. They stop. Just the clerk.

“That would be nice. Thank you.” Fareeha inclines her head slightly.

“I’ll be right back!” The clerk looks at the box, and then bustles off into a back room. 

Fareeha forces her hands to relax, and rolls her shoulders. “They’re quiet…” She mutters to herself. She pushes her hands deep into her pockets. In the process, she presses lightly at her waist, silently reaffirming the presence of a sidearm.

“Here!” The omnic returns after a few minutes, holding a small cup. They hold it out expectantly.

“Thank you.” Fareeha takes it, and takes a deep breath. The tea has an earthy, warm scent, slightly sweet, with a hint of spice. Fareeha takes a sip, closes her eyes, and opens them again. “It’s nice. I think take a box of this one.”

“Right away!” The omnic’s lights brighten, and they pick up a box before turning and bustling back to the counter. Fareeha follows at a slower pace, draining her cup along the way. She stops near the counter, then backtracks slightly to pick up a small jar of honey. She quietly places it on the counter next to the box. 

The door opens silently and smoothly as Fareeha leaves, holding a small paper bag. She supposes it can sense which side it is being opened from, and only rings to signal an entrance. Clever. Behind her, the clerk calls out a cheerful “Thank you! Have a good night!”

“You too.” Fareeha responds, albeit much quieter. She steps back into the cool night air and begins to retrace her steps.

About 10 minutes later, Fareeha stops and backtracks. She finds herself standing in front of a general store. She considers it, then steps towards the entrance. The doors slide open.

 

Fareeha enters quietly, opening and shutting the door slowly. Satya gives her a quick glance, but otherwise the three are still deeply involved in the repair. Fareeha sets her bag on the counter next to the coffee maker before pulling out a small package out of her pocket. She splits open the backing with a nail, and peels it and the plastic covering off before depositing it in the trash.

“The ending here, it split with this one over here. It doesn’t look like it’s suffered too much water damage.” Angela points with a pair of tweezers. She moves to brush her hair back behind her ear.

“Here.” Fareeha appears at her shoulder, and holds out her hand. Angela looks up at her, then down at her hand. Hairpins. Simple, black, hairpins.

Angela laughs, and sits back. “Do I really do it that much?” She takes two and pulls her hair back, pinning it behind her ear. “Thank you.” 

“These were the only ones they had left, so they don’t match your hair. Sorry.” Fareeha looks askance.

“No, it’s fine! But you did you really buy them just now? You shouldn’t have!” Angela smiles, and lightly touches one of the pins. “This is much better though. Thank you.” Fareeha nods and moves away.

 

* * *

 

“It’s been 4 hours.” Fareeha approaches the desk again. Angela blinks, as if coming out of a trance, and looks up. “Take a break.”

“Has it really been that long?” Angela squints at the clock. She sighs, and rubs her neck. “I suppose we should.” Next to her, Satya looks up and withdraws as well.

“I made tea. There’s honey on the counter, if you want it.” Fareeha turns and nods towards the door. In the low light, Angela can make out the shapes of two cups and a jar of honey. With that, Fareeha withdraws to her bed, and goes back to what she had been doing before: reading. Still, she looks up anxiously when both Angela and Satya pick up a cup.

Angela takes a sip, adds a bit of honey, and then beams, noticing Fareeha’s look. “It’s good.”

“Indeed.” Satya agrees, also taking a sip. “Though perhaps, next time, I can provide you with some better equipment.” She casts a disdainful eye over the hotel coffeemaker as she says this.

Fareeha visibly relaxes. “Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“Hmph. Take your time then, and let me know when you’re ready to get back to work.” Torbjörn scowls into the camera, and then leaves. He appears to hop down away from the camera, as if he had been standing on a stool for the last several hours.

Angela snorts. “10 minutes!” She calls. 

Somewhere in the background on the other side, something clangs, accompanied by vague, probably Swedish swearing. “Ah, papa that’s..!” Brigitte’s voice sounds moments before she rushes past the camera. Fareeha swears she can faintly hear Reinhardt’s booming laughter. Angela snickers. Satya rolls her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Angela connects one last delicate fiber, replaces the casing, and sits back with a sigh. She rubs her eyes and looks at the time. 2:12 AM. Next to her, Satya clicks the metal panel back into place. “I believe we are done.” She says, both looking and sounding no worse for wear.

“Maybe.” Angela says, reaching over to tap Genji on the head. “Wake up, Genji.”

Genji’s lights slowly brighten. He lifts his head and flexes his hand. “Are you done?”

“Systems check, please.” Angela says, watching him closely.

“Of course.” Genji pulls his arm back, settling into a cross legged stance, one hand on either knee. His lights dim, but don’t quite go out. About half a minute later, they brighten again. “All green.”

“Excellent.” Angela yawns, and takes off her glasses. “Let’s check back in in the morning, and be more careful next time.”

“Of course!” Genji looks at the window thoughtfully. “Though, I’m not sure I can go out that way again without arousing suspicion.”

“My window has been open since I got back.” Satya says, as she turns to leave, closing the call with Torbjörn in the process. “You are welcome to use it.”

“Most kind.” Genji hops to his feet. “Thank you.”

“Are you done? Can I go to sleep?” Fareeha sets her book down.

“You didn’t have to stay up, you know.” Angela says. She nods and waves as Satya steps into the hall.

“Who else was going to watch the door?”

“She’s right, you know.” Genji says. He crosses the room, waits, and then slips out after Satya. “It’s good to be cautious.”

Angela watches him go with a resigned look. “Can we at least agree to sleep in then?”

“Yep.” Fareeha lays down and covers her face. “I can do that.”

“It’s settled then.” Angela runs a hand through her hair, pulling out the two hairpins in the process. She sets them on the nightstand and moves to the bathroom door. 

“Mmhm.” Fareeha sits back up. “Mind if I change out here?”

“Of course not.”

“Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight.” Angela gently closes the door.

 

* * *

 

“Dr. Ziegler.” Angela looks up with a start as the voice cuts through the silence of the library. Satya stands in front of her desk, holding a sheet of paper. “The contents of this document are beyond my field of expertise, however I believe you may be interested in reading it.”

“Oh, thank you.” Angela reaches across the desk and accepts the paper, peering down at the minute font. She offers Satya a smile, albeit a frazzled, tired one. “You’re pretty amazing, aren’t you?”

Satya stands there stiffly. After several moments of utter silence, she opens her mouth. “I do not know how that would pertain to the current topic. Finding that required nothing but patience.”

“No, I’m talking about everything else.” Angela squints at the title printed in the top margin as she says this.

“Everything… else?”

“Indeed. I’ve never seen anyone work light half as well as you do, but that’s almost a given, considering your background.” Angela picks up a pen and notepad and begins to scribble a few things down. “But this last month, you’ve been extraordinary. I don’t know how you manage to juggle two very important jobs  _ and _ find time to go above and beyond for all of us. You’re miraculously always there when we need you.”

“I… see.” Satya says stiffly, her hands hanging limply at her sides.

“Take some time and take of yourself too, alright?” Angela looks up at her. “And let me know if I can help with anything. If you ever need to talk, I’m always here.”

Satya hesitates for a long time, a hint of confusion in her eyes. In the end, she chooses merely to incline her head slightly and return to her own desk without a word.

 

Angela steps out of the library just in time to see the sun set, its last orange light fading from the tops of the tallest skyscrapers. The chill of the night is already setting in. Angela slips her hands into her pockets, and descends the few steps onto the sidewalk before turning to the left.

Suddenly, her phone buzzes in her hand. Angela steps to the side and pulls it out, frowning. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Satya performing a similar action. The message is short.

 

[Genji]: Get out of the city.

 

Angela waits a moment for any follow up. When none comes, she looks up, grimly catching Satya’s eye. Angela turns, heading towards the nearest entrance to the subway. Frustration wells in her chest as she struggles to keep herself from outright running—she had to stay inconspicuous, and feign ignorance. Still, Angela walks as fast as she can.

She rounds the corner just in time to see the building across the street explode in a column of flame, throwing shards of metal and glass far into the street. 

Angela doesn’t bother with pretending to be calm anymore. She breaks into a headlong run as the people around her scatter, fleeing the fire and debris. Angela pushes against them, running not towards the subway, but towards the building, and all the people she knows are trapped inside.

“Don’t take it out.” Angela stops in front of a man lying on the ground, staring at a piece of glass protruding from his side. “Don’t touch it. Trust me, alright? You’ll be fine. Lay down, that’s it.” She bends down and helps him, propping his feet up a little. “Feet up, good, that’s great. Help is coming, so just sit tight. You’re alright. Stay awake.” The man musters a frantic nod.

Angela straightens up and continues at a slower, more cautious pace into the building. She lifts her shirt to her mouth and nose, squinting through the smoke, listening for anything above the roar of fire. She finds someone near the entrance, calling weakly for help. Angela carries them out, makes sure they’re alright, and then dives back into the inferno. She spots another figure on the ground, but as she watches it’s consumed by the flames. An omnic that had been leaking oil. Angela moves on as the figure stops moving.

Angela makes several trips to and from the fire, moving people out and performing basic emergency treatment before going back in. She scours the edges, and then eventually begins to move deeper into the building. These parts are more dangerous—they are filled with smoke, and some of the columns look damaged. Angela looks around with wide, sweeping turns, scanning the floor. She curses. This is exactly what the Valkyrie was made for, but she didn’t bring it. The smoke makes her eyes water and sting.

There. She spots a humanoid shape laying on the floor. Angela hurried over and kneels, checking for a pulse. She finds one, but it’s weak. Angela leans forward, reaching out to gather the body in her arms. The fire and smoke roar and billow on all sides. She can’t hear or see anything else. 

Something grabs her from behind, and wraps an arm across her mouth. Angela kicks back, and connects with something, but the grip only tightens. She claws at the arm, smoke burning in her lungs, no sound escaping her lips. She reaches for the body, and a desperate thought crosses her mind.  _ Wait. Wait, I need to save them.  _ The edges of her vision blur. One more thought, before it all goes dark.

 

_ I’m sorry. _


	22. Puzzle Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things happen very quickly. Talon and Overwatch, as ever, are back to butting heads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm really sorry, I intended to have this posted MUCH earlier; a few things came up in my life that I won't bore all of you with the details of. On top of that, I was really unhappy with how this particular chapter turned out and ended up re-writing it several times. The final version took roughly 14 hours to draft, and I'm still trying my best to not get hung up on it and just get it posted.
> 
> By the way, I have received a lot of feedback recently! I'm really pleasantly surprised; thank you to all of you that have left a comment! I won't reply to all of them for a variety of reasons, but I do read everything and I genuinely appreciate all criticism, good or bad, as long as it's constructive. Tell me what you liked, what you didn't like, and I'll take that into consideration and try my best to improve! So every little bit of feedback counts ♥

I’ve seen this all before. _Angela clambered over the smoking rubble, eyes scanning the darkness._ Too many times. _Flashes of orange flickered in the corner of her eye_ — _ambulances and firetrucks._ I’ve seen this all before, many, many times before. _The thought drummed in her head. But this, this was different. The stone, charred as it was, was white, and mixed thoroughly with a great deal of metal. The glass wasn’t shattered into small shards as it should have been, but rather seemed to be large, twisted panes, cracked and chipped but mostly in one piece. A burnt pennant of blue canvas waved in the breeze._

_Angela bent down and hooked her hands under a slab of concrete, lifting it with a grunt of exertion. She pushed it aside and peered into the gaping hole beneath it. The room had white walls and black countertops. Several boxes had been pushed against the far wall, covered with a tarp. A disused lab. The suit didn’t detect any life, nor did she see any bodies. She sighed, and turned away. There were still many unaccounted for. Including… including…_

 

Angela pries her eyes open and blinks, squinting against a pounding headache. All she sees is grey concrete. The floor is flat, featureless, and dirty. Stacks of massive shipping crates flank her on either side. Small windows at the top of the walls cast light into the room, alongside some industrial, bright white lights hanging from the ceiling. A metal walkway stretches across the center of the room about halfway up. Angela looks down at herself, and over her shoulder. Someone had tied her to a chair. A shadow moves across the floor. Angela follows it to its source—a figure walking around the walkway. She is being watched.

Angela flexes her wrists, and spreads her fingers, testing the limits of her movement. Not great. Up on the walkway, another shadow appears. They pass each other without a word. The first one melds into the darkness cloaking the far end, leaving the other to walk across the lit portion alone. Angela tilts her head and stills her breathing, listening intently. She can’t hear anything on the walkway, but she _can_ hear something else. The very slightest sound of feet on the floor. Another guard rounds the corner, in all black, red, and white. A mask covers their face, with only a red gash of a visor to see out of. They look at Angela, but they don’t stop. Angela watches as they go. _I’ve seen this all before._

Angela closes her eyes and thinks back. Maybe… a decade ago. The incident had been all over the news. Blurry snapshots of bullets and explosions in a dark night, alongside glimpses of people. And bodies. One body was found, with evidence of others having been moved away or hidden. It was an outrage. It wasn’t like Blackwatch to get caught. McCree had come into her office, eyes dark and wild. He seemed afraid. He showed her the mission log and post-mission report. He wanted her to know what happened. He wanted to make sure she could recognize that uniform. Just in case.

Angela opens her eyes and settles down to watch the guards, counting the minutes, trying to piece together their patrols. Their feet are quiet. She can only guess at how many there are, just as she can only guess at how big the room is. She counts two on the walkway. Another two or three on the ground. It’s disconcerting, almost. Angela thought Talon would have more resources than this.

“Hey.” The voice comes out of nowhere. Angela’s head snaps around, her eyes darting this way and that. “Over here.” The woman appears in a ripple of blocky purple light. Like pixels. Angela sets her jaw and doesn’t respond.

“Hey hey, don’t give me that look.” She twirls her gun in her fingers and smirks. “You all knew this was coming, right?”

“We were merely doing innocuous research.” Angela shrugs.

“Ha!” The woman flicks her fingers, and a pane of light appears in the air. “Tell me more about…” She scrolls through it, eyeing the walls of text with a look of mild disgust. “Ah, whatever. We both know you were poking around where you didn’t belong.”

Angela raises her eyebrows. “And here I am, alive, and here you are, standing there talking to me.”

“Hm, yeah, I almost forgot.” She leans forward. “You caused a lot of trouble for me back in Illios, _mi amiga_. Boss was real mad. But you know what? We all make mistakes. So let’s talk about that for a minute.”

“Let’s not.”

“Aw, that’s no fun.” She grins. “But, I’m actually okay with talking about this particular thing with someone else. Maybe after my lunch break. We caught _two_ birds the other day, after all.” She holds up two fingers. Angela’s stomach jumps into her throat, and suddenly she can’t breathe; can barely think. She hears a chuckle before she’s suddenly alone again.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha peers up into the single narrow window. The light stings, but there’s a small shape disrupting the rectangular frame. She squints. An object, or a person? She had not seen it move yet. She curses the glare of the sun and clenches her fists. The scrape of metal on metal greets her ears, forcing Fareeha to look over her shoulder at the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the shape in the window move. A person, after all.

“Oh hey, you’re both up.” Fareeha looks the woman at the door up and down. She notices three things: the circuitry on her hands, the string of devices looped around her waist, and the gun held almost flippantly in her right hand. Her eyes narrow and focus on the gun. She’s so engrossed in analyzing the details that she almost doesn’t notice.

Fareeha suddenly looks up. “ _Both?_ ”

The woman lifts a finger. “I’ll give you one guess.”

Fareeha’s mouth goes dry. She doesn’t know; it could be any of them. She had been alone when it all went wrong. She doesn’t know, but there’s a certain dread in her stomach. Logically, it would be Genji—he had also been alone, but the name that comes out of Fareeha’s mouth isn’t Genji. “Angela.”

“Aw, aren’t you smart.” She smirks. “Or lucky? It’s kind of cute, anyways.”

Fareeha forces her voice to be level. “What do you want?” Her mind races. Had Genji and Satya escaped?

“What, personally? I’d _love_ it if you could get me one of Helix’s software engineers, but that’s not going to happen.” She leans against the doorframe. “Honestly I’m just bored.”

“Bored.” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“I’m stuck out here doing nothing for days on end, and the one thing they _do_ want me to do is absolute child’s play.” She sighs, and examines her nails. “Just because a few _idiotas_ mucked up their job, and suddenly somehow _I’m_ the one at fault—” She breaks off. “Anyways.”

“No, keep going.” Fareeha’s voice is flat. “This is interesting.”

“Oho, but you know what’s more interesting?” The woman leans closer, eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do you know about your partner over there, hm?” She jerks her head over her shoulder, out the door.

“Non-disclosable.”

She continues on as if she hadn’t expected Fareeha to actually reply. “I’ll tell you what _I_ know. _I_ know that she’s got a lot of skeletons in her closet, _mi amiga_. And she’s managed to hide it all right under your nose.”

“Angela can’t lie for shit.”

“Aw…” The woman reaches out and taps Fareeha on the nose, much to her disgust. “You don’t even realize… There are some things they’ll never tell you. You weren’t part of the original Overwatch after all.”

Fareeha’s carefully constructed cool demeanor crumbles. Her eyes darken and her brow lowers. “No.” Her hands, which had relaxed, clench again. “You’re wrong.”

“I’m always right. You know they can do it too, don’t you? Vaswani still thinks that precious little bastion unit doesn’t have any ammunition, doesn’t she?”

“She…” Fareeha trails off. “We’ve never lied to her.”

“You’ve never actually told her the truth either.” The woman raises an eyebrow. “By the way, remember that one time, oh, a few months ago? The vigilante that disappeared as if he knew you were coming.” She grins. “Wonder how he found out.”

Fareeha takes a deep breath and recomposes herself. “And I wonder how you have the time to bother me like this. Have you ever tried going outside? Reading a book, maybe?”

“Heh.” The woman steps back and reaches out to close the door. “Suit yourself.”

 

* * *

 

“Hmph.”

Sombra stops mid-stride and cocks her head. “What was that?”

“What a waste of time.” The voice is cold and flat.

She laughs. “Aw, don’t be like that Amé.”

“Every word that comes out of your mouth is utterly useless.”

“If that’s what you want to think.” Sombra pulls a pane of light out of the air and scans the few lines of text on it. “You know I’m right.”

“No, I don’t.”

Sombra grins. “You _hope_ I’m right, don’t you? You’d like it.” She is greeted by silence. “Come on, it’s making things fun.”

“Fun.” The voice on the other end of the comm scoffs.

“You know what fun is, right?” Sombra gasps as if she’s been wounded. A guard rounds the corner and gives her a curious look. She waves him along. “I’m starting to think you just say things like that to avoid the doc.”

“I’ve said nothing. You’re now making assumptions.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

The comm is silent for some time. “If you’re right…”

“I am.” Is the prompt reply.

“Shut up. If you’re right, it’ll be trouble for all of us. So don’t. You. Dare.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate.” Sombra bats her eyelashes innocently, accomplishing nothing more than scaring another guard. “Ha! But Gabe’ll be mad, won’t he?” She waits. Silence. “Whatever. We’ll find out in a…” She looks back at her screen. “I give it a few days. _Maybe_ a week at most if they’re slacking.”

 

* * *

 

Winston walks the length of the room. He turns around, and walks to the other side. He grumbles, runs a hand through the thick, dark hair on his head, and then swings up to the second floor and checks the screen. He grumbles again, and resumes pacing in circles around the circumference of the room.

“Your blood pressure is abnormally high.” Athena observes. “I would recommend attempting to calm down.” Winston grunts but otherwise ignores the comment.

The door opens with a woosh. “Hey big guy.” Lena pokes her head in, following Winston’s progress around the room. “You alright?”

Winston finally stops, and sits down right where he stands. “No.” He puts his face in his hands and groans. “No.” He repeats.

“It’s pretty bad, isn’t it?” Lena darts up to his side and sits down next to him. “Any way I can help?”

Winston shakes his head. “Nothing. We need more people. I should be putting together a rescue team but instead we’re all just sitting here.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, nearly knocking Lena over.

“Hey, it’s not your fault.” Lena reaches out and pats Winson’s side. “If you leave this place undefended, and someone got in,” she shakes her head. “I mean, you told me yourself, right? People would die.” She pauses. “Do you think Bastion could..?”

Winston shakes his head. “I’m not sure if they would want to do that. And besides, they are loud. If anything happened, people would know, and if people knew, we’d be shut down. Immediately.”

“Bummer.” Lena scoots over to the edge overlooking the first floor and swings her legs out over the side. Winston grunts in agreement. He pulls a screen out of his pocket and checks it. He sighs deeply. Lena watches him. “No word from any of them?”

“Only Satya.” Winston sighs again. “There’s no winning this.”

“If I may.” The door opens again, though no footsteps sound. Zenyatta’s array of blue lights shine up at the two, joining the glow from the rest of the screens. He floats serenely up the stairs. “I realize you are in a predicament. I have been collaborating with Lúcio since we got the news. I believe we have a solution.”

“Indeed?” Winston tilts his head.

“Quite. You see, Efi Oladele is a big fan of young Lúcio’s work.”

“You don’t mean…” Winston’s eyes widen. “Orisa?”

Zenyatta inclines his head. “She has agreed to send Orisa here if needed. Temporarily, of course. They cannot leave Numbani unprotected for long.”

Winston is silent for a long time. “Well. This is unexpected but not at all unwelcome. She is designed specifically for security. Leaving her to guard the watchpoint would free up more personnel.”

Zenyatta puts his hands together, almost like a singular clap. “Please, allow me to assist in the rescue operations.” He bows his head.

Winston looks at him doubtfully. “I have reason to suspect that an omnic would unsuited to this specific mission.”

“Genji is my student. I owe it to him. Besides,” he looks up, “I have healing experience.”

“So does Lúcio.”

“Perhaps I should reword my statement.” Zenyatta says. “I _will_ go help him.”

Winston and Zenyatta stare at each other until finally, Winston’s shoulders slump. “I cannot hold you here against your will, and you would be safer with us. You may join the rescue team.”

“Thank you.” Zenyatta nods, and turns, floating back down the stairs and out the door. The moment the door closes fully, A shadow drops from the ceiling and lands with a quiet thump.

Hanzo Shimada straights up and lifts his chin. “I wish to go as well.” Winston hesitates, and exchanges a look with Lena. Hanzo continues, quieter this time. “I know you do not trust me. But I cannot stand by when my brother is in danger.” He bows stiffly, and without waiting for a response, turns and exits.

Lena watches him go. “You’re work is cut out for you, isn’t it?”

“Hm.” Winston grunts, and moves over to his computer. “Would you like to come with?”

“Would I?” Lena hops to her feet, nearly hitting her knees against the metal railings. “That means yes.”

“I know.” Winston manages a short, amused chuff. “Go get some rest.”

“Rest.” Lena rolls her eyes. “I’ve been resting for _forever_.”

“It’s because you need it.” Winston taps on the screen and peers at what it displays. He adjusts his glasses.

“Do not! Angela said I was alright a _month_ ago.” Lena hops over the railing and onto the floor below with a small “Oof.”

“Careful!” Winston spares a moment to look over his shoulder. Lena waves at him and darts out the door. He shakes his head and turns back to his work, combing through all the reports Angela, Genji, Fareeha, and Satya had made, searching for clues.

 

* * *

 

Commercial aircraft can’t support something quite as large and heavy as Orisa, but the Overwatch carrier is more than capable. Lena takes it as soon as she gets permission to use a suitable landing pad near Numbani, flying as high and fast as she can down to Numbani. It is noon when she arrives, touching down just outside city limits. Efi and Orisa are waiting for her.

“Lena Oxton. Callsign: Tracer. Criminal record: trespassing, speeding—”

“Orisa!” Efi reaches up and gently smacks Orisa on the head. “Stop that!”

Orisa pauses. “No standing bounties or unresolved fines. Former star agent of the first iteration of Overwatch, founding member of the reformed Overwatch.” She inclines her head. “You are a hero.”

“Aw, thank you!” Lena rubs the back of her neck. “You are too, the both of you.”

Efi is silent, seemingly not knowing what to say. At last, she gathers her words. “Orisa will be going with you to protect Watchpoint: Gibraltar for some time.”

“Yep!” Lena turns and looks over her shoulder at the carrier. “Better get going as soon as possible, actually. Winston’s real anxious today.”

“Right, right!” Efi turns to Orisa, hugs her, and whispers something. Orisa hugs her back, very, very gently. Lena watches as Efi lets go and steps back, and as Orisa walks up to the ramp leading into the carrier.

“She’ll be back in no time!” Lena gives Efi a wave and salute. “Thanks!”

“Y-yeah!” Efi waves back. “You’re welcome!”

Lena turns and dashes up the ramp, turning right into the cockpit. She passes Orisa standing in the middle of the carrier, looking around curiously. “These things are really big, aren’t they?” Lena stops to comment before darting up to the pilot’s seat. She looks around, making sure the area is clear before firing up the engines.

Athena’s triangular symbol appears on a screen to the side. “Setting course for Watchpoint: Gibraltar.”

Orisa looks down at her feet as the aircraft begins to shift and rise. “This vehicle is remarkably sturdy.” She remarks.

“We didn’t skimp out on that stuff.” Lena looks over her shoulder. “I’m not really the one to talk to about it though. Winston could probably tell you more.”

“I see.” She turns around, feet clomping against the metal floor, peering inquisitively at the oxygen tanks, life jackets, and lockers. She picks up a pachimari plush off of a table to the side. It squeaks in her grasp

Lena, hearing the squeak, turns back around. “Suppose we haven’t tidied this up in a while.”

Orisa scans the table, observing the water bottles, as well as the single glass bottle and shot glasses left over from the last time McCree had been in there. She also peers at the deck of cards, the posters plastered in the corner, and the small handful of basketballs sitting on a nearby rack. “This carrier seems well-lived in.”

“We do some long missions. Even long flights. People get bored sometimes, and as long as there’s no turbulence they might as well unwind a little.”

“Of course.” Orisa falls silent for sometime, turning instead to watch the glowing globe over the center table. A little blinking dot representing the carrier moves steadily along a dotted line representing the charted path. Two small targets, one at Numbani, the other at Gibraltar mark the ends.

After a long moment, Orisa speaks up again. “Tracer?”

Lena turns around. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For calling Efi a hero.” Orisa says. “It means a great deal to her.” She pauses, and, in an almost bashful tone, continues. “To me as well. I hope to live up to such a title.”

Lena seems almost taken aback, but then she smiles. “I think you already do.”

“That is high praise.” Orisa dips her head. “Thank you.”

“You deserve it!” Lena looks down at the dashboard. “Anyways, at this rate we’ll be back at the ol’ watchpoint in time for dinner! You can meet everyone and familiarize yourself with the place.” She looks up. “Unless you’ve already got blueprints downloaded or something?”

Orisa shakes her head. “The blueprints of Overwatch facilities are strictly confidential. I do not have access to them.”

“Huh, I figured.” Lena presses a few buttons in quick succession. “I’ll see if Winston can get those to you. Satya and Winston have gone and remodeled it a bit though, so you should probably explore a little anyways. We’ve got rules of course; can’t just give you the sort of clearance to wander around wherever you’d like, but most of the place should be open.”

“I see. I will make note of it.” Orisa pauses for a few minutes, as if trying to figure out what she should say. Lena hums quietly to fill the gap until Orisa speaks up again. “If it is not too distracting, may I ask you a few questions?”

“Go ahead!” Lena calls over her shoulder.

“I am curious about the procedures of your missions. I am very new.” Orisa looks down at her hand and flexes it. “I hope to learn from those with more experience.”

“Alright, um…” Lena trails off. “I mostly did combat missions. A lot of urban stuff, since I can get around all the twists and turns and ledges pretty quickly. Plus, my pistols are close range and use pulse munitions, so I can minimize collateral damage. But of course in the city there are a lot of people around, so the priority is always keeping the citizens safe. Evacuate people to safe places and make sure they stay safe throughout the course of the mission and you’ve won half the battle. I dunno.” She looks over her shoulder. “You’ve got a whole shield thing goin’ on right? Honestly you should talk to Reinhardt. He’s not going to be back for a while though.”

“Noted.”

“Winston might be able to help too. He put together a barrier projector recently. Been trying to work out tactics with it ever since. Satya can make barriers too, but she doesn’t really have combat experience.”

“You said that this craft is equipped with recreational activities in the event of a long flight. Yet it is very fast, especially for its shape and bulk.” Orisa picks up the scattered cards and begins to carefully tidy them back into a deck. With only one large hand, it proves to be a challenge.

“Yeah, but even a few hours is a long time to sit around doing nothing. For most of us anyways. Some took the opportunity to work or rest, just sitting there with a book or some such thing. The rest of us played cards and basketball. There’s a hoop in the corner there, on the left. Bloody impossible to get anything through it on a moving aircraft, but that doesn’t stop people from trying.”

Orisa picks up a basketball, looks at it, then looks at the hoop. She stands there for a long time, and then suddenly throws it. The ball, miraculously, passes straight through the hoop and is suddenly accompanied by the sound of party horns and a small shower of confetti. “Oh!” Is all Orisa can say.

Lena cackles. “I forgot Winston installed those! Congratulations on getting it in, by the way.”

Orisa trots over, picks up the ball, and looks at the scattered bits of colorful paper on the ground. “Efi would like this.”

“Yeah.” Lena turns her gaze forward, her voice quieting. “We’ll make sure you get back to her safely.”

“Yes.” Orisa leans down to pick up the confetti. “And you’ll get the others back safely too.”

“That’s the plan!” Lena salutes over her shoulder.

The rest of the flight passes in thick, but not unfriendly silence.

 

* * *

 

True to Lena’s word, it’s dusk when the carrier slides into the hangar, the guiding lights blinking as the shadows of the building slide diagonally across the aircraft. Winston hurries out to greet them, his suit stark even in the darkness. He stands back a respectful distance, but hurries up almost as soon as the engines die down.

“Hey big guy! There and back without any problems!” Lena lowers the ramp and trots down. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No, Lúcio’s cooking at the moment. He will probably be done soon.” Winston raises his voice and waves at Orisa. “Nice to see you.”

“I wish to look around. Are there areas which I am not allowed to enter?” Orisa waves back, and looks around. She seems impressed by the old satellite.

“Oh, yes, of course. Well, private areas, such as the rooms of our agents, should not be entered without the explicit permission of their inhabitant. You may enter the lab, medbay, and workshops as long as you are careful and don’t disturb anything. Please keep out of the control center and garden for now.” He pauses and clarifies. “The control center for more obvious reasons, but the garden is to remain _strictly_ undisturbed by order of Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou for research purposes. Besides, it is quite near to the cliffs, and it is unsafe to go walking around in the area.”

“I understand.” Orisa sweeps the room again. She trots off towards the exit stairs, her feet _clomp-clomping_ on the metal floor.

“Anyways.” Winston leans closer to Lena and lowers his voice. “I’ve finalized the roster for the mission. But more importantly, I’ve been contacted by Genji. From a public pay phone, actually. He said his communications features had been damaged, and that he was unable to perform repairs. However, he has been scouting and believes he’s found the building where the others are being held. Not far from Oasis, which is what I guessed. I’m thinking we leave early in the morning. Before sunrise.”

“Yeah, I hear you. You got a landing site and everything?”

“Yes.” Winston turns and begins to make his way to the door. “Athena’s just started to chart a safe path. I don’t want to tire you out trying to navigate through potentially… delicate territory, but…”

“Don’t worry, I’m up for it. Just give me time to take a little nap.” Lena zips up through the door and looks down the hall. “Catch some dinner, pack, and nap. Think we got enough time to debrief on the way there?”

“Yes. I don’t know as much as I would like, and it is a very short mission besides.” Winston waves her off. “Be up by 3 AM. Make sure you’re well-rested.”

“Can do.” Lena says, already disappearing in the direction of the mess hall. “You do the same, yeah?”

“I know.” By the time Winston reaches the door Lena’s already out of sight. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sombra's dialogue is hard to write when the amount of people that know who she is number in the single digits.
> 
> "Mi amiga" means "My (female) friend"  
> "Idiotas" means "Idiots"
> 
> Switched POV a few times this chapter, but we'll be back to Fareeha and Angela in the next!


	23. Full Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing brings people together like mortal peril.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between Pharmercy week and the Summer Games, most of my writing time was converted to art and gaming time in the last few weeks, so this one's rather late; I'm sorry! I noticed a LOT of typos in this one when I went back to edit, and I'm sure I've caught most of them, but perhaps not all... as always, let me know if you spot anything funky going on with the words.

Angela cracks open an eye, squinting in the darkness. The lights had shut off, leaving only weak rays of cool early-morning light to illuminate the area. Angela could see very little beyond vague, boxy shapes in so many shades of grey. But right now, what she could see wasn’t important. It was what she could hear.

_ Shhh.  _ The sound of a stream of dust or sand on concrete. Very quiet, and very short. Angela might have dismissed it as cloth rubbing on cloth, or shoes brushing against the floor. But the guards didn’t wear cloth, and they didn’t walk like that either. So it was either the chatty one, or something else. Angela’s gaze drifts towards the walkway, where she can just barely make out a red speck moving steadily along its length. She tilts her head ever so slightly. The speck doesn’t stop. Angela listens more intently, ear now tilted towards the source of the sound.

It comes again, in bursts this time. Starts and stops, overlapping each other into one continuous stream, changing only in speed and volume. Angela rolls her eyes.  _ Subtle.  _ Maybe 10 seconds later, it stops. Angela waits. Nothing more comes. She takes a few more moments, then closes her eye and returns to her original position. Her hands twist, ever so slightly.

The sun creeps higher in the sky. The shapes of the windows on the ground become shorter and brighter.

There’s a tap, like a fingernail on plaster. This time, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What was that?” The voice is heavily filtered, as if heard through a hand-held radio. A guard hurries around the corner, laser target wildly scanning the area. Angela swears she can see a slight ripple in the air on the guard’s other side, but it’s gone when she blinks. She smiles thinly and ducks as the wall above the walkway explodes.

Chunks of plaster and concrete rain down, accompanied by a flash of brilliant light and thick plumes of smoke. Something whistles past Angela’s head and suddenly the ropes all go loose. The resonation of a bullet hitting the ground is almost lost in the chaos. A moment later, the guard collapses with a soft sigh. Angela leaps to her feet and briefly considers the unmoving body before looking up.

On the walkway above, a commotion erupts. Angela can’t see very well through the plumes of dust and smoke, but she can make out several figures moving around. Shots are fired, accompanied by bright blue, red, and yellow flashes and general pandemonium. One figure looks down, a bright, glowing gash of a visor meeting Angela’s eyes. It points towards another end of the room almost urgently before turning and disappearing into the shadows.

Angela pulls a baton from the belt of the unconscious guard. She pads towards the end of the the nearest pile of crates, cursing the sound her shoes make on the floor. Angela pokes her head around the corner and finds herself looking at a corridor of sorts, formed by the shipping crates. A blank wall marks the far end. She looks the other way. Another wall, equally far away. Angela steps out into the open, turns to the right, where the figure had pointed, and runs.

She gets as far as the next stack of containers before another boom cracks through the air, reverberating around the concrete and metal building. Angela casts a quick look over her shoulder just in time to see someone being thrown bodily against the far wall. More flashes. Something metal goes hurling after the body. Angela pulls closer to the crates to her right, trying to glean whatever shelter she can.

With the commotion now focused on two other parts of the room, she reaches the end of the corridor unharmed, skidding on the smooth floor. She looks to the left and makes eye contact with a very tense looking guard closer to the far wall. Or, she would have, if this one wasn’t wearing the same red visor that they all wore. The guard seems surprised. They seem even more surprised when the door behind them slams open. As the guard turns around, a call for help already forming in his throat, Angela sees her opportunity and sprints forward, baton raised. He doesn’t stand a chance. 

Fareeha steps around the corner, rubbing her wrists. She looks down at the body. “You hit him very hard.” She remarks.

“He’s not dead.” Angela grabs her by the shoulders. “More importantly, you’re not either.”

“No.” Fareeha’s eyes scan Angela, then the room beyond. “I get the feeling they were waiting for something.” She looks over her shoulder. “Or they’re just incompetent.”

“I don't like it.” Angela looks around nervously and grabs Fareeha by the hand, half pulling her into the shelter of yet more crates. “Talon’s massive and well-funded. What’s going on?”

“An elaborate ruse? It’s not uncommon for smaller groups to try and bluff with the reputation of more well-established ones.” Fareeha eyes the red emblem on the guard’s sleeve.

“A smaller group? Getting in and out of Oasis intact? Bombing a building that large and that close to the archives?” Angela shakes her head fiercely.

“Bombing a—” Now it’s Fareeha’s turn to grab Angela by the shoulders. “You didn’t—you didn’t run in on your own?” She finds the answer in Angela’s face. Her knuckles whiten. “ _ Habla. _ ”

Angela averts her eyes. “I know.” 

“The city has emergency medical services! You couldn’t have even waited until the fire department got there?” Fareeha stares at Angela, who insistently avoids eye contact. She suddenly pulls Angela close and wraps her arms around her. “You could have died.” She whispers.

Angela thinks her heart might hammer out of her ribs. She hesitantly raises her arms and awkwardly pats Fareeha on the back. “I—I know. But I can’t just stand by.”

Fareeha sighs and lets go, once more holding Angela at arm’s length by the shoulders. She looks tired. “I know. But next time, at least call. Let people know where you are.”

“I thought Satya was behind me.”

“Satya said she lost track of you in the initial rush. She chose to retreat instead of trying to search through the chaos.” Fareeha finally lets go of Angela, arms dropping to her sides. She looks over at the guard. “He’ll be waking up soon. We should go.” She reaches out and gently teases the gun from the guard’s hands.

“We should.” Angela flips her baton around a little. She looks at Fareeha, then peers around the corner, trying to quell the warmth in her face. “Looks clear.” She murmurs.

Fareeha looks up at the now empty walkway stretching across the room about halfway down. “What happened?”

“A lot of things.” Angela grimaces. “Let’s talk about that later.” She jerks her head in the direction of the opposite wall and the daylight now flooding from it. “That seems like an exit.”

“That’s also where the action appears to be concentrated. And the sightline from there to here is unbroken.”

“We can duck down into side-spaces every so often then.” Angela offers her hand to Fareeha. “And stay together.”

Now it’s Fareeha’s turn to chase away the warmth in her face. “Right.” She takes Angela’s hand and squeezes it slightly but lets go. She needs her hands free.

Angela turns, scrutinizing the path. “Let’s go.” She darts diagonally across the space, Fareeha following close behind. They make a short dash, skirting the open space, and then turn into a side-passage of sorts, framed as ever by piles upon piles of crates. Angela presses her back against a container, pausing to catch her breath. Another loud  _ crack _ and a smattering of gunshots echoes across the room.

The hairs stand up on the back of Fareeha’s neck. A strange taste settles in the air. “That’s new.”

“What’s new?” The voice chirps out from overhead. In a heartbeat, Fareeha spins on her heel and trains her gun on the source. Lena “Tracer” Oxton raises her hands. “Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Lena?” Fareeha lowers her gun and exhales deeply, relief sagging her shoulders.

“Who else?” Lena hops down from the crates she’d been crouched on. “Glad to see you. Real quick, have you seen Genji anywhere?”

“Genji?” Angela speaks up. “No, not a trace. Is he missing?” The fingers on her free hand flit worriedly.

“No, um, he’s probably fine, he should be somewhere around here, we’ve just been unable to establish contact. Oh! Speaking of which,” Lena rummages around in her pockets and produces two earpieces. “Here.”

“And Satya?” Angela moves closer, eyebrows knit in concern.

“She’s still in Oasis, under guard, courtesy of Vishkar. They won’t let her leave until they think it’s safe.”

“Who’s here?” Fareeha asks as she reaches out to take one of the devices.

“Oh, it’s me, Zenyatta, Hanzo, and Winston. He’s responsible for that metallic taste in the air. You ever seen him work?” Lena turns her hand over and drops the remaining earpiece into Angela’s hand. “He’s brought a few new things with him. The bubble shields, as I like to call ‘em, and the old taser.”

“The tesla cannon?” Angela frowns. “I thought that was experimental at best. Not ready for field work.”

“Yeah, well, he figured it out.” Lena looks over her shoulder. “Oh, and there’s some other people here too. Not with us, but don’t seem to be with Talon either. Winston’s recommended we all stay away from the strangers for now.”

“Sure.” Fareeha says, wearily. “Neither of us have our suits, so it’s not like we’re going to be doing anything too major.”

“Got a gun, don’t you?” Lena nods at Fareeha’s hands. “Don’t shoot them, but don’t turn your back, you know?” Fareeha gives her a curt nod. “Alright, well, I’m off. Keep an eye out for Genji, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fareeha taps her comm and waits until she hears the signature crackle of it coming online. “Pharah reporting.”

A brief moment passes. “You’re safe!” Winston’s voice is thick with relief. “Make your way to the front of the building if possible. There are stairs in the walls leading up to the walkway and a few rooms higher up, if the blueprints are to be believed.” He cuts out for a bit. When he comes back, his voice is slightly rougher. “I am anticipating a great deal of trouble in the main space very soon. Where’s—” He cuts off again.

“Mercy on call.” Angela’s voice cuts clearly through the ensuing static. Fareeha raises her eyes to see Angela standing a few paces away, hand raised to her ear.

“Mercy… Good, I’m happy you’re alright.” If it is possible for the relief in Winston’s voice to get more palpable, it does so. “I’d like you to make your way to—”

“—To the front of the building?” Angela nods. “I heard. Is there anyone—I mean, is there any way I can help? Are all of  _ you  _ alright?”

“Zenyatta and I are fine. Roll call?”

“Tracer here, You know I’m doing alright!” Lena’s chipper voice breaks in. After a brief pause, she clears her throat. “Hanzo?”

Another few moments pass before Hanzo’s gruff voice reluctantly enters the comm. “I am unharmed.”

Angela sighs, visibly relaxing. “Good.”

“Remember, work your way to the front. I take it you’re not equipped. Don’t put yourself in undue danger.” Fareeha gives Angela pointed look as Winston says this. Angela, who had turned away, doesn’t notice.

“All right, well, um, Tracer reporting, all of you might want to duck soon. If you’re in the main room I mean.” Lena’s voice breaks in again, slightly more strained than before.

“What? What do you mean—” Winston sounds aggravated.

“Duck!” Is all Lena can say. Fareeha spots a small object flying through the air before the center of the space explodes in a ball of flame.

She composes herself quickly. “Agents Pharah and Mercy, moving to locate side doors to find a safe exit. We’ll report back if we find anything.”

“Roger that. Winston and Zenyatta, re-engaging the enemy on the east end.” Winston grumbles something under his breath, and in the brief moment before he switches off the comm one can hear the patter of bullets against a barrier and the crackle and hum of lightning.

“My guess is we’ll find some stairs nearer to the walkway. There has to be a way up to and down from it.” Fareeha turns and steps up to Angela’s side, eyes flickering this way and that.

“Certainly. It makes sense.”  Angela turns towards the wall. “Is there a gap there, between the crates and the wall?” 

“I don’t think so.” Fareeha says grimly. “We can climb, but…”

“No, running will be faster and easier at the moment.” Angela shakes her head, and then peers into the corridor, already mapping out a path in her head. “If we want to go directly underneath the walkway, we will have to get close to the site of the explosion.” Even now, blue sparks flash in the column of smoke rising from the destruction. “The smoke will lower visibility and make it harder to breathe. Hostiles are masked; it’s likely that moving too close to the site would provide them with an advantage.”

“So we go around.” Fareeha says. “Let’s hope there’s a way, or a stairwell closer to us.” She steps up to the corridor as well, peering this way and that. “Coast is clear.”

They move warily into the space, then sprint across to the next gap over, Fareeha slightly ahead of Angela. Fareeha turns her head to check the wall. “Nothing.” Angela doesn’t reply, but they both keep running. 

The column of smoke looms ahead, spreading slowly over the ceiling and creeping towards the hole blown in the wall. Streaks of light flash within it intermittently, but neither Fareeha nor Angela pay them much attention until a shot tears through the air, forcing the smoke aside in its wake. The whistle of the bullet and the  _ crack  _ of it striking something hard drown out everything else. Fareeha stops in her tracks and ducks behind cover. For a heartbeat, the world slows down and falls silent. 

“Sniper!” Hanzo’s voice barks through the comm.

“Where?” Winston’s voice answers swiftly. “Does anyone have a visual?”

“The shot came from a window, third from the right facing the south wall.” Hanzo replies. “There is no longer anyone there.”

“Talon sniper, huh?” Lena’s voice is quiet.

“Len—Tracer, do not engage unless absolutely necessary!” Winston’s voice adopts a note of something resembling panic. “That rifle has too much range; you’ll never be able to get close safely! Do not engage!”

“I can run circles around her, don’t worry!”

“Tracer.” For The first time, Zenyatta’s smooth, metallic voice enters the comms. “It would be unwise to compromise the mission in pursuit of revenge.”

“Zenny? But she—”

“I am well aware.” His voice is calm. “But the safety of yourself and our companions is more important. Besides, nothing has been proven.” 

Lena is silent for a long time. When she finally speaks again, her voice is glum, but resigned. “Tracer reporting, re-commencing attempts to locate and establish communications with Agent Genji Shimada. I’ve swept the western half of the building, and haven’t found anything yet.”

“Noted.” Fareeha can hear the relief in Winston’s voice. “Thank you. The rest of you, take shelter and notify us immediately with any new information.”

Angela tugs gently on Fareeha’s sleeve, drawing her attention. She turns her eyes towards the wall, where a single unmarked metal door almost cowers in the shadows where a crate meets the wall. “Now’s a good time to get inside.” She pauses. “More inside.”

“Right.” Fareeha follows as Angela begins to move towards the door, but before she reaches it the walkway explodes into activity again. A scuffle, it seems, on the north side. Someone goes flying, apparently having been blown off their feet to fall the long, fatal distance to the floor. Fareeha pauses and squints, one hand on the doorframe. She watches as lances of blue and bars of red light flash through the thinning smoke.

Someone steps up to the railing and looks down. A triangle of blue cuts through the hazy air. For some reason Fareeha feels like she should say something. Then, there’s a slight turn, a tilt of the head, and the light is gone, back into the smoke as another bullet cuts through the air, and suddenly Angela’s back at Fareeha’s side, pulling her through the door.

“Don’t stand still.” She hisses. 

“Sorry.” Fareeha shakes her head and looks up the metal stairs twisting in the narrow stairwell she now found herself in. “It’s just been…” She rubs her head. She looks up to meet Angela’s eyes. There are a lot things there that don’t need to be put into words. Fareeha turns silently to the stairs.

The metal clanks and creaks underfoot, every sound drawing a wince or a scowl. When they reach the top of the stairs, they’re greeted by another door. Angela leans against the wall and presses a finger to her earpiece while Fareeha looks behind them and listens at the door. “Winston, we’ve gotten into a stairwell. Where do we go from here?”

“There’s a narrow walkway that wraps around to the front of the warehouse. Looking at the blueprints, there’s also some small connected rooms on the sides. I can’t quite tell what’s going up there at the moment; those unknown combatants that I mentioned, they might be up there—” Winston breaks off and mutters something under his breath. His breathing seems labored. “We’ve got—there appears to be someone or something disturbing the digital aspects of the equipment—”

“That’d be a someone.” Fareeha says. She wrinkles her nose. “Gaudy and purple. Punch her for me if you see her.” It might just be her imagination, but the comms seems to fritz a little right after she says this.

“You seem uncharacteristically upset.” Zenyatta observes. 

“She’s a—what’s the word…” Fareeha mutters something under her breath. “Bitch.”

“Haha holy shit  _ chica _ , did you really forget how to say ‘bitch’?” The voice spills into Fareeha’s ear. She jumps and spins. Nothing but thin air.

“Athena.” Winston’s voice is cold. “Get her out of here.”

“Ah, did I say that out loud?” She sighs. “Wh—” She cuts off.

“Get to the door.” Winston’s voice is grim.

“Roger that.” Fareeha slowly pushes the door open. She pokes her head out and looks around. “Seems quiet up here.” She looks over her shoulder at Angela. “I’m not relishing being out there for long. Should we try for the side rooms?”

Angela hesitates. “Yes. But anyone that’s also up here is going to be in there too.”

“Let’s hope they’re more concerned about the  _ armed  _ combatants.” Fareeha eyes the walls and the white painted doors set into it. A pane of dim light slips out from under the fourth furthest one.

“We  _ are  _ armed.” Angela’s voice lacks conviction. They both know what Fareeha meant.

“Let’s go. We need to get out of here as soon as possible.” Fareeha turns the corner onto the walkway, and moves quietly to the door. She puts her shoulder to the first door and shoves it open, ducking inside when she sees no movement in the darkness. After a quick scan of the room, she gestures over her shoulder. The  _ tap-tap _ sound of Angela’s shoes quickly follow.

Angela also scans the room the moment she steps in. Her eyes darken, and not completely because she closes the door immediately after she’s clear of it. She kneels strides halfway across the room and kneels, fingers brushing against the body pushed against the wall. Fareeha watches as Angela’s eyes move from one body to the next. She counts three. Angela pulls away, and her fingertips come back bloody.

“This…” Angela exhales slowly. Disgust flashes dark in her eyes. She doesn’t finish her sentence.

“You know how Talon is.” Fareeha’s voice is hesitant.

“I know.” Angela’s fists ball up. She suddenly looks up. “How did you get out? You couldn’t have possibly been left untied.” She doesn’t let Fareeha reply. “Someone let you out.” She sees the answer on Fareeha’s face. “What was the point of all of this?”

“I don’t understand it either, but we need to get home.” Fareeha spins as soon as she says this, and in the space of a breath she has someone in a headlock.

Genji raises his hands. “Glad to see you are still on your toes.” He taps Fareeha’s forearm. “Sorry to startle you.”

Fareeha relaxes and lets Genji go. “You’re as bad as Lena.”

“I like to think I’m worse, actually. She’s not very sneaky.” Genji cracks his neck. “You’re right though. About getting home I mean.”

Angela, who had scrambled to her feet, steps forward and looks Genji up and down. Her gaze settles on a dark gash down his side and the peppering of gunpowder and plasma burns across his chest. Her fingers twitch, as if she wishes she could fix that right at that moment, but instead she lifts fingers to her comm. “Mercy reporting, we’ve found Genji.”

“Aurgh.” Lena’s reply is immediate. “Where is he? I’ve been wandering around back here for  _ forever _ .”

“Side room on the south side. I don’t know which door exactly this is, but it’s closer to the western end.”

“First door from the end on the second floor.” Genji says.

“Genji says it’s on the very end.”

“Right, okay, on the way. Don’t leave.”

“Tell her that she complains a lot for someone so fast.” Genji sits down on a tipped over chair. Fareeha raises an eyebrow. He shrugs. “We’ve worked together long enough for me to make educated guesses.” Angela declines to pass on his comment.

It takes Lena only a few minutes to arrive, practically bursting down the door. Genji raises a hand in a casual wave. “Yo.”

Lena holds up a finger and pulls a comm out of the inside pocket of her jacket. She tosses it to Genji, who catches it with ease. “Finally. With the time that took, I’d have thought you were avoiding me if I didn’t know better.”

“I would never.” Genji’s reply is even and amicable. He clips the comm over his earpiece. “Genji here.”

“All missing agents have been located and lines of communication has been established.” Athena’s response is immediate. “Next objective: extraction.”

“Indeed. Agents Pharah, Mercy, and Genji are currently the least-well equipped. All other agents, focus on giving them cover. After that, pull out and regroup at the agreed-upon location.” Winston says. “When’s the last time any of us saw one of the unknown combatants?”

“Northern side.” Hanzo replies.

“Brother!” Genji perks up. “You—”

“Don’t.” Hanzo cuts him off.

Genji shrugs and stands up. “Let us get moving. This whole affair has gone on longer than it should have.”

“Yeah, I gotta go too.” Lena pries the door open. Her face is suddenly serious.

“Don’t pick a fight with the sniper.” Angela gives her a hard look.

“I know.” Lena shrugs in an entirely unconvincing manner. “I’m just going to do clean-up.”

“Let’s go.” Fareeha brushes up against Angela lightly as she moves to the side door leading into the next room over. “The action’s moved out of our path. It’s the best chance we’ve got.” She watches as Lena flashes out the other door. “Let’s trust the rest to do their jobs.” At this, Genji dips his head and also slips out the door.

Angela stays where she is, staring at the dark bodies slumped on the floor, with their white, skull-like masks and cracked red visors. Her voice is very quiet. “When I make assumptions, people get hurt. They die.”

Fareeha doesn’t know what to say. Eventually, she just repeats herself. “Let’s go.” Angela slowly drags her gaze from the floor and moves to follow.   

Fareeha was right. The action had both moved away from the southern wall and died down in general by the time the two emerge back into the walkway, having threaded through multiple rooms all the way up to the stairs leading down to the entrance.

Winston’s cracked, sparking blue barrier rises from the ground near the entrance. Winston himself appears moments later, catching sight of Fareeha and Angela. He lights up. “Our rendezvous point is the ruined tower out east. You should be able to see it easily. Go there and stay there while I get everyone else out.” He says, pointing.

To his side and slightly behind, Zenyatta gradually brightens his lights. He cups his hands, and the light swirls into them, forming a softly glowing golden sphere the size of a baseball. He holds it out to Angela. “Be at ease.” He says.

Angela takes the orb curiously. She visibly relaxes the moment its light touches her skin. “Thank you.” She murmurs, briefly holding it close to her chest before slipping it into her pocket. 

The sun is bright and hot, the air dry. An occasional weak breeze lifts small plumes of dust off the ground. Fareeha squints, taking a moment to let her eyes adjust. She spots the tower almost immediately. The tall metal structure had long ago gone crashing into the earth, but it still managed to continue rising above the other buildings. Blinding sunlight glints off of its top. 

Fareeha scans the other buildings as she picks her way across to the tower, with Angela following behind. Aside from the tower, the buildings had all been built from concrete. They seemed to have all been warehouses, again with the exception of the tower. All had fallen into disrepair. Fareeha looks back, in the process allowing Angela to catch up. The warehouse they had come from looked abandoned too, from the outside. It would have taken a closer look to notice that it didn’t have any cracks or holes in its walls. Fareeha turns, and grimly continues trudging through the noon-day sun.

The tower provides some shade, its upper half jutting out over the ground. Fareeha’s too weary to check just how structurally sound it is. She all but collapses onto a nearby block of concrete and metal, sighing with contentment and closing her eyes at the cool shade. She hears Angela sit down next to her.

“So.” Angela murmurs. She pulls Zenyatta’s gift out of her pocket and turns it over in her hands. “I owe you an apology.”

“What for?”

“I lost my nerve.” Angela absentmindedly taps the orb. It rings softly, like a distant bell. “I thought I’d learned to clear my mind and focus only on the mission when I’m the field, but I guess not.” She pauses and swallows. Her voice shakes. “And when I messed up, it fell to you and everyone else to make up for it. And if… if you couldn’t, if someone got hurt, I couldn’t have even helped them. So… I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Fareeha ponders this for a few moments. “It’s easier to be brave when you have your suit. It’s easier to help others when you have the equipment you need.” She cracks open an eye. “We were all shaken.”

“Some more so than others.” Angela mutters.

“Stop.” Fareeha opens her eyes and sits up. “Don’t you dare beat yourself up about this. Stop being so self-sacrificial. Stop…” Her voice quiets. “Stop trying to apologize to me.  _ I’m _ the one that should be apologizing to  _ you. _ I’ve treated you badly since we met at the museum. I’ve blamed you for a lot of things that weren’t your fault, I’ve used you as a scapegoat for my grief, and I haven’t even apologized for it until now.” She raises a finger as Angela opens her mouth to speak. “Don’t you dare say it’s okay. It’s not. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry and I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

Angela is silent. After a few long minutes, she reaches out and takes Fareeha’s hand, cupping it in her own, pressing Zenyatta’s orb against both their palms. Its light pulses gently from between their fingers. “I think,” she says softly, “You could use this as well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank the Blizzard artists for making some of the Talon troops PERFECT for the kind of foreshadowing that I wanted to do (the very heavy-handed kind >>)
> 
> "Habla" means "foolish" (feminine) in Arabic  
> "Chica" means "girl" in Spanish


	24. Sunset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past comes back with a vengeance, and no one is as prepared as they thought they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually finished well over a week ago, but with much deliberation I decided I'd like to post both this and the next at the same time. So, I'm sorry for the wait!

_She carried the weight of the world on her shoulders._

 

* * *

 

“What did I say?” Angela takes off her glasses and pinches the bridge of her nose. “What did _all_ of us say?”

“Don’t fight the sniper?” Lena’s reply is remarkably meek.

“And what did you do?”

“I fought the sniper?”

Angela throws her hands up into the air. “And do you know _why_ we all told you not to fight her?”

“Because she had a superior vantage point and a massive range advantage?” Lena’s voice becomes steadily quieter.

“Yes!” Angela points vengefully at the chronal accelerator spinning slowly on Lena’s chest. “And _everyone_ knows what that is. If it got so much as _clipped_ from a sniper rifle shot… do you remember how long it took us to get you back last time? How much sleep Winston lost over the whole thing? It’s not like we can just go fishing through time for you!”

“I know! It wasn’t fun for me either! But she didn’t shoot the accelerator, did she?”

“No, she didn’t.” Angela glares. “She shot you through the abdomen and shoulder instead, which is _so_ much better!”

“Technically only the shoulder.” Lena grumbles.

“Just because you so happened to be able to think clearly enough to undo it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Nor does it mean you’ll be able to get away with it in the future!” Angela runs her hand down her face one last time and puts her glasses back on. “I’d suspend you from all operations for this but I suspect Emily’s already beat me to it. Perhaps instead I’ll put you under house arrest until you learn how to make better choices.”

Lena’s eyes widen. “What? Angie, you know Em can’t really travel that much, she can’t come here and she’s been worried sick, I have to go back home—”

Angela waves her words away. “I know. But you’re already hurt, and you know we have security concerns right now. If something were to happen, if a fight were to break out, you would not hesitate to throw yourself into the fray. In your current state, you might not come out.”

Lena stares at Angela. Her lower lip trembles, and her shoulders, one bound in clean white bandages, droop. “I…” Her voice shakes, and for the first time in a long time, Lena “Tracer” Oxton is rendered speechless.

“You can call Emily, of course. And once you make a full recovery, you’re free to go. But I’m not taking any chances right now.”

Lena sinks back into her sheets, clearly trying her best to blink away the tears. She takes a deep breath, as if to say something, but changes her mind and lays her head back, defeated.

“I’m sorry.” Angela turns and closes a few of the screens. She pushes one monitor closer to the bed, it’s screen displaying a phone icon. “But it’s for the best.”

“Y-yeah.” Lena murmurs. “I understand.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” Angela turns to the door, giving Lena one last apologetic glance. Lena simply stares at the screen despondently. Angela shakes her head, and gently closes the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

“Oh hey Angela!” Hana’s voice carries from all the way across the room and into the hall. Angela stops in the doorframe and looks into the common room.

“Good morning.” Fareeha looks over her shoulder and gives Angela a small wave. “How’s Lena?”

“Upset.” Angela steps into the room. “But recovering well.”

“You’re confident she’ll make a full recovery then?” Fareeha moves to the side a little, allowing Angela to walk over.

“Certainly. She’s healing quickly, and there have been no complications so far, save for the fact that she strained it on the way back.”

“So why’s she upset?” Hana looks up from her screen. Her fingers move across it, curiously tapping out messages.

Angela winces. “She wants to go back to London and see Emily, but I’ve forbidden her from leaving the watchpoint.”

Hana’s rapid typing falters. “Aw Angie, that’s mean!”

“The current situation _does_ warrant that kind of caution.” Fareeha says. She checks the time. “Well, I have to go. Winston wants to run some drills. I’ll see you two around.”

Hana looks up again. “Speaking of which, why have neither of you, you know...” She tilts her head towards the window.

“Been in the sky?” Fareeha turns to leave. “Angela’s got Lena to take care of and some more work on the side, right?” Angela nods. “So we’re not picking that up again for a while yet.”

“Huh.” Hana waves. “Well, bye, I guess.”

Angela also waves. “I’ll see you later.”

Hana sits back, sinking ever more into the couch. “Who’s she drilling with today again? Genji?”

Angela shrugs. “I don’t know.”

The room lapses into silence. Out of the corner of her eye, Angela spots Hana glancing at her. She looks over, and Hana quickly ducks her head. A few minutes later, she catches Hana again. “What is it?” Angela raises an eyebrow.

Hana finally looks up and looks Angela in the eye, studying her thoughtfully. “I’m just making sure you’re really alright, that’s all. You know, a lot’s happened in the past week. That sort of thing weighs on people, and they need help to get over it.” She glances at her phone as she says this, voice subdued. “So…”

Angela stares at her, but then she smiles. “Thank you for your concern, Hana. I’m fine. Truly.”

“Yeah.” Hana’s eyes slide towards the door. “I figured you got all the help you needed.”

Angela tilts her head. “And what you? How are you feeling?”

Hana is quiet for a long time. Finally, she takes a deep breath. “Did they put that… stuff in my medical file?” Angela nods. Hana looks away. “I’ve been talking to Zenyatta about all of that. So don’t worry about me.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Heh.” Hana goes back to looking at her phone. “Anyways, she said you’ve got some work to do?”

Angela sighs. “Alright, alright, I’ll go.”

“Hey, that’s not what I was saying!”

“It wasn’t?” Angela stands up. “You are right though, I have things to do. Is there any coffee left?”

“Um…” Hana looks towards the kitchen. “I’m not sure. I don’t drink coffee.”

“Hm. Oh well.” Angela walks out into the hall. “I need to limit my caffeine intake anyways.”

“That’s not going to happen and we both know it!” Hana calls after her. Angela elects to ignore that and simply put on a brisk pace down the hall.

“Oh Angela!” Angela looks up to catch Genji peek around the corner. “Good morning!” He beckons. “They’re just getting started here in Range C.”

“Squadron drills, isn’t it?” Angela steps up to Genji and glances down the hall, noting the flashes of light in the third window. “Who is it? If not you, I mean.”

“Fareeha, Zenyatta, and Winston himself to serve as an opponent. He with his new equipment, so that he may test and identify problems, Fareeha so that she may develop a strategy for working with slower, ground-based teammates, and Zenyatta simply because he has relatively little combat experience.”

“Is that so?” Angela walks up to the window and leans on the ledge, looking out and down into the large room. She recoils slightly in surprise as Winston leaps past, lips curled back to expose long, gleaming fangs. His roar can be heard even through the thickly reinforced walls. “I hope they’re being careful…”

“We did not fight, no. Just travelled, for the most part.” Genji leans up against the glass as well. “It is a bit strange to be watching from this perspective.” He looks down and around. “You really can see everything.”

“Travelled, you say?” Angela watches as something small and glowing flies through the air. “It must have been nice.”

“It was. Good scenery. Time to talk, and time to think.” Genji turns his hand over and looks at it, flexing his fingers. “But not enough time to sit around and sulk.” He looks up. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“You really did find both someplace and someone good for you, didn’t you? If only the rest of us could have been so well off.” Angela sighs, and rubs her eyes. “ _Jesse._ ”

“Did he ever tell you what happened to that arm?”

“No.” Angela crosses her arms. “And not only did he lose an entire arm, he accrued a bounty of… what was it before we got it dropped? 60 million US dollars?”

“I believe the bounty came first. Some of it anyways. Perhaps someone tried to collect with his arm?” Genji tilts his head back to observe Fareeha hovering near the top of the room. “She can get very high very quickly, can’t she?”

“She can indeed. The most powerful jets require some time to cool, but she can get even faster than me.” She shakes her head. “But anyways, almost everyone’s been in the news at some point or other, usually for getting into a fight and being… thrown off a roof or something.” Angela turns and looks pointedly in the direction of the medbay.

“Ah. Are you referring to the London incident?” Genji looks over to Angela. “Personally I am glad she did what she did.”

“Of course. We all fight because we have to, but you know how I feel about this.” Angela pushes away from the window. “Anyways, I have work to do. Take care, Genji.”

“I will.” Genji lifts a few fingers in farewell. “Oh by the way, speaking of that… event, when do you think Lena will be able to leave the watchpoint? Zenyatta and I typically go to pay our respects back in Nepal every year. She expressed a desperate wish to come with us.”

Angela stops, halfway down the hall, and exhales deeply, a resigned droop in her shoulders. “A few weeks, up to a month, maybe. She’s hard to predict.” She hesitates. “I can release her a bit earlier than that if everything goes smoothly.”

“Ah, thank you.” Genji bows slightly. “That would be most appreciated.”

“Of course.” Angela dips her head, returning the gesture. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Right, right.” Genji turns back to the window.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha pulls her helmet off, gratefully gulping in the cool air. One hand reaches blindly for her water, plastic crinkling slightly in her grasp. The other sweeps strands of hair away from her face, sweat sticking them to her face. The water is lukewarm, but it washes away the taste of fuel fumes.

Winston shuffles by. “Good work out there.”

“Mm.” Fareeha tilts her head back, lapping up the last drops of water from the bottle, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “You gave us quite a hard time.”

“Thank you!” Winston nods in acknowledgement. “I have some ideas to improve upon the shield generators and the cannon, and I see you’ve developed a few tactics for dealing with me.” He laughs, the sound rumbling deeply in his chest. “I believe it was a highly productive session.” He looks around. “By the way, where has Zenyatta gone?”

“He said he wanted to go take some time to meditate. It’s his way to settling down after a fight, I think.” Fareeha picks up her helmet and tucks it under her arm. “Who’s doing dinner? Do you know?”

“Uh, that would be…” He trails off. “Hm, no one, actually. We’re just clearing out the leftovers tonight.”

“Hanzo doesn’t want to do it?” Fareeha smirks good-naturedly. “I’m going to go wash up.” She turns towards the locker room. “I’ll see you later.

“Sure.” Winston turns away as well, heading back into the hallway. “Oh and,” He stops just in front of the opening. “When you have time, please write down an analysis for me of today’s work. I’d like to know in depth what you think.”

“Sure thing.” Fareeha raises a hand over her shoulder, not bothering to look around. She pushes the door to the lockers open with one hand. The other drops the empty bottle in the recycling.

The watchpoint locker rooms are best described as “utilitarian”. The lockers are gray, each marked with the Overwatch emblem and a small screen displaying the name of its owner. On the right are a row of sinks and a long mirror. On the left wall, several simple showers are divided from the rest of the room by heavy blue curtains. A rack of towels hangs on the side nearer to the door, along with some soap, though agents were and still are encouraged to bring their own. Fareeha merely makes a beeline to her locker and pulls out her clothes, tucking those under her arm as well.

It takes her maybe 10 minutes to walk down to the hangar and change out of the suit and into more everyday clothing, though she elects to leave the undersuit on. It takes her another few minutes to walk back up to her room. She meets no one along the way, though a faint trickle of music and light creeps out from under Lúcio’s door.

Fareeha showers quickly, scrubbing the smell of jet fuel out of her hair and skin with practiced ease. She notices something on her floor when she steps out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair. An envelope, slipped under the door while she was in the shower. Fareeha dries her face and leans down to pick it up. It’s scuffed and dirty, with a scrap of paper stuck to the front.

_“Hey, this came for you in the mail. I didn’t know they even delivered here._

 

__\- Hana”_ _

 

Fareeha snorts and peels the envelope open with a nail. The paper inside is yellowed and weathered at the edges, the corners soft and slightly shredded. A few grains of sand have collected at the bottom of envelope. There is nothing else. Fareeha carefully unfolds the paper.

 

* * *

 

_….drops by up to 67%, though naturally such effects are lethal, no doubt further research could provide… By which the synthesis of… such that…_ Angela yawns and closes her eyes. For a moment, her head, propped up on her palm, slips. She jerks back up, prying her eyes open. She yawns again, and squints. The small text swims before her eyes. She looks down, at the notepad filled with dense, equally small scribbled notes. What a dry read.

A knocking on the door drags her attention away, giving her eyes a much needed break. Angela stands, limbs heavy. She stifles another yawn and pulls the door open, cramped fingers fumbling for a moment on the handle. “Hello.” She says, distracted.

“Angela.” Fareeha says. “Can I come in?”

Something in her tone catches Angela’s attention. She searches Fareeha’s face as she steps aside. “Of course. Let me just finish this last bit.” She hurries back to her desk, glances at the screen, and adds a few words to her notes. She flips the pad closed and caps the pen, setting it down on top. “What did you need?”

“We need to talk.” Fareeha closes the door behind her. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the note. She unfolds it and holds it up, eyes locked onto Angela’s face.

Angela stares at the note. Even from this distance, Fareeha can see the flash of recognition in her eyes. She simply studies it, wordless.

“Do you recognize her handwriting?” Fareeha asks, softly. “Or should I read it for you?”

Angela’s eyes shift from the note to Fareeha’s face. “Ana.”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

“I—”

“You knew this entire time.” Fareeha’s hands shake. “And you never told me.”

Angela averts her eyes. “That was never my choice to make.”

“She’s my _mother_.” Fareeha takes a deep, shuddering breath. “And no one… she never… no one told me.”

“Fareeha…” Angela trails off. “She didn’t tell anyone. I knew only because…” She trails off again.

“Because what?” Fareeha stares at Angela, gaze boring into her.

“I… I had a theory. I didn’t know for sure until now.” Angela murmurs. She sits down at her desk. “As you know, I worked out in the Middle East for most of my time after Overwatch was dissolved. It was in the interest of the safety of myself and others that I kept tabs on any… dangerous people. Bounty hunters and mercenaries and the like.” She smiles wanly. “Perhaps I might even know some of them. Regardless of that, there was word of one that had built a reputation as being quite dangerous. A masked, mysterious, and patient sniper that sometimes used the most unusual ammunition. I got curious. I dug deeper, and I found Overwatch. The biotic rifle was developed by Torbjörn using my technology as a base. It matched the little evidence that was recovered from sites where she had been spotted. Yet there had apparently been no records of one of those rifles being removed from storage. They were a very new thing as well, so few were ever made. Among those that were ever issued, only one was never returned.”

“Because the agent it was issued to died in the field. Because she was never found.” Fareeha can barely keep her voice steady. She can feel the ache in her chest. “But she didn’t die.”

“No. I wondered at first if perhaps someone had stolen it. But this ‘Shrike’ was reputed to have remarkable aim. I had my suspicions. Either way, I have never voiced them before now.” Angela spreads her fingers out, staring at the pen. Carefully avoiding meeting Fareeha’s eyes. “If I was wrong, then I was wrong. If I was right, well, it was still her choice, not mine.”

Fareeha can feel the pricking in the back of her eyes. That sad, heavy warmth that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. “All this time.” Suddenly, all of the fight goes out of her, and everything is heavy. “We fought often before she… before I left. But, I would have thought, at the very least… Sam… my dad, did she ever..?” Fareeha lifts a hand to her face, feeling the tears in her eyes. “Overwatch was always a second family for her. I’m starting to wonder if there was ever a first.”

“Don’t say that.” Angela glances up and briefly uncrosses her legs, as if she wants to get up. Instead, she just wraps her arms around her body and looks away again. “She loved… loves you with all her heart. We all knew that.”

“But I didn’t! And I still don’t!” Fareeha crumples the note in her hand. “I’m constantly reminded of how you, how all of you knew her better than I ever did. Do you know what it’s like? What it was like when I first came here? I admired all of you. I still do. But there’s always that ghost in my footsteps, isn’t there? Because I met you as ‘Dr. Angela Ziegler’, but you met me as ‘Ana Amari’s daughter’, didn’t you? And everyone tells me about her, about what she was like, about all the things she did. And I have to stand there and come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t there for any of that.” Fareeha searches Angela’s face. “I was once told she would have been proud of me. Back then I thought that people just didn’t know her as well as I did. Now I wonder if it’s the other way around. It must be some kind of awful, cruel joke, that the one person that didn’t know her was her daughter.”

There is a moment of silence, broken only by Fareeha’s heavy breathing. “Fareeha…” Angela half reaches out.

“I don’t understand.” Fareeha whispers. She turns and pulls open the door, dropping the paper in the trash on the way.

Fareeha walks down the hall, not particularly aware of where she’s going and not particularly caring. Her feet take her outside, almost around to the eastern side of the building before she stops and changes her course. The medbay balcony is back there. Instead, she settles on a tussock of grass closer to the southern side, looking over the stony cliffs out onto the sea. Fareeha settles her chin on her hands and lets the sea breeze brush through her hair and cool her face.

After some time, she becomes aware of a presence at her side. She turns her head slightly to see Zenyatta, head bowed, settled slightly to the side and behind her. His lights are dark, but they brighten just slightly as she looks over. “You seem troubled.” He says.

“You could say that.” Fareeha returns her gaze to the sea. She closes her eyes briefly.

“May I help?” A faint golden glow tickles the corner of Fareeha’s vision, and the same soft, comforting warmth from the orb before suffuses her body. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but Fareeha relaxes.

She takes some time to formulate her thoughts. “I messed up, didn’t I?” Zenyatta is silent. “And I _just_ apologized for doing things like this.” Fareeha sighs. “What do you do when you’re angry at someone that you love?”

Zenyatta tilts his head. “That depends. Conflict takes balance to solve. You must meet each other halfway. If you are angry at someone, is it because of them, or because of yourself? Or both, perhaps?” He hums. “It is not easy either way. It takes strength to recognize one’s own flaws, just as much as it takes strength to recognize that someone you love dearly has hurt you.”

“And after that?” Fareeha asks softly.

“Think and decide. Think about it from your perspective and theirs. Understand the full context of the situation. Then, you decide. Let no injustice against your person go unpunished, but never forget to have mercy.” Zenyatta presses his hands together, and for a moment the light flares. “Sound advice both on and off the battlefield, I believe.”

“Easier said than done.”

“As most things are. Still, it is something to think about.” He bows his head and withdraws, taking his light with him. “I wish you well.”

Almost as soon as Zenyatta disappears into shadows, Angela rounds the corner. “Fareeha!” Her voice is heavy with relief.

Fareeha leans back on her elbows, tilting her head to watch Angela approach. “... Hey.”

“It’s-it’s cold out.” For some reason, Angela trips over her words. “At least come inside. I put on some tea for Lena, if you want some.” Her voice trails off, slightly uncertain, but she bolsters her resolve and it strengthens again.

“That would be nice.” Fareeha says, quietly. “Thank you.”

They walk down to the kitchen in silence. The lights are bright, accentuated by the white walls. The shadows are stark. Time feels odd for Fareeha. She’s filled with that sort of meditative, weary emptiness one gets after they’re done crying. It’s not entirely unpleasant.

The small kitchen smells like cinnamon. A thin plumes of steam rises from the kettle when Angela goes to pour it. The tea set matches, for the first time in a while. Emily brought it the last time she visited. “Sugar?” Angela glances over at Fareeha.

Fareeha shakes her head. “No.”

“Alright.” Angela walks over and hands Fareeha a cup before hurrying back to look through the pantry. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Thanks.” Fareeha blows on the tea, watching the steam slide from its surface. It smells good. “I apologize.” She says, quietly. “I lost my resolve.”

Angela pauses, and looks over at Fareeha. “You don’t have to apologize. You’re allowed to have feelings, you know.”

Fareeha takes a sip. “Not like that.”

Angela shakes her head ruefully. “I’m used to it.” Fareeha looks up, startled. “Not from you specifically, but it happens to everyone. Working as a combat medic, and in ER… I saw it often. People bottle their feelings up, and then something happens. Someone dies, or comes close to dying, perhaps. And it all comes crashing down.” Angela’s movement slows and stops as she says this. “This is a hard life. People want to stay strong on the battlefield and in front of their teammates. They don’t tell anyone when they’re hurting, and then no one can help. So if you want to talk…”

Fareeha sits there thoughtfully, carefully thinking things over. At last, she looks up to catch Angela watching her. “Soldier: 76. You tipped him off, didn’t you? Back when they found him in Cairo.”

Angela’s gaze drops. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Like I said. I keep tabs on all of the most notorious criminals in that area. We’ve crossed paths before. He was… _is_ one that I felt should walk free.”

“You seemed to have the opposite opinion back then.”

“I know. I still mostly hold that opinion. I just realized two… no, three things when I heard you say that name back then.” Angela studies the kettle. “One, that he had a good heart, despite it all, two, that if he was ever caught, he would never go free again, and three, I didn’t know what I would have done if it had come to a fight between you two.”

“You’re a good liar.” Fareeha tries to keep her voice steady. “Better than I thought.” She sighs. “You should have told me.”

Angela winces. “I know. I don’t enjoy it, and I’m sorry to have done it.”

“Can we agree to not have any more of this?” Fareeha says wearily. “We’re a team. We can’t work together if we can’t trust each other.”

Angela’s reply is both swift and relieved. “That, I can promise you. No more deception.”

“Thank you.” Silence settles in the air. Fareeha sips her tea. Angela does as well, leaning against the counter.

She checks the time. “Ah, I almost forgot about Lena.”

Fareeha cocks an eyebrow. “I thought you were just brewing more tea.”

“That would have been a good excuse wouldn’t it?” Angela bends down and begins to rummage around for a tray.

“Why isn’t she here, by the way? She doesn’t need her shoulder to walk around.”

“She’s staying in bed so she can glare at me and look miserable in protest, I think. Ah, there it is.” Angela pulls out a tray and placed the teapot and another cup on it. She looks up. “I can’t complain I suppose; at least it’s keeping her out of trouble. There really isn’t anything to go with this, is there?”

“You know how long cakes and biscuits last around here.” Fareeha says, amused. “We _do_ have a never ending supply of Nano Cola, D.Vas, and Lúcio-ohs.”

“None of which should ever be had with tea.” Angela pushes up onto her toes to check the back of the top shelf before giving up. “She’ll just have to go without.”

“I didn’t know Lena cared so much about her tea spread.” Fareeha says.

“She doesn’t. Like I said, she’s just mad at me.” Angela stares at the tray, and adds some napkins and the little sugar bowl that came with the tea set.

“That’s fair.” Fareeha shrugs. “I’d be mad too.”

“You agreed with me just this morning!” Angela throws Fareeha an accusatory look.

“So?” Fareeha sips her tea between sentences. “If I had a wonderful girlfriend and I wasn’t allowed to see her, I’d be pretty upset. And that’s on top of being shot in the shoulder with a very powerful rifle.”

Angela looks flustered. “They’re allowed to see each other! Just not in person!”

“My point still stands.”

“You’re helping _ever_ so much.” Angela rolls her eyes and steps out the door, closing it with a resounding _click_.

Fareeha remains where she is, leisurely draining her cup. She looks outside, past the reflection of the lights on the window, and into the sky. The moon is full tonight, round and warm in the sky. Fareeha gives it a long look before turning away. She needs to think.


	25. Pressure System

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's always easier said than done. Still, there's nothing like some free time and a good hobby to dispel a bit of the tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the long wait on this update was because I wanted to post this and the previous chapter at the same time. I don't know how most people usually read updates; personally I just go straight to the end. I mean, I think the site sends you emails for every chapter but I never check my email >> So, heads up if you read like me!

_ She found her sitting at the table one night, long after everyone else had gone to bed. Sitting there, surrounded by cups of tea, just staring into them. Angela remembered some old superstition about divining the future from tea leaves. The moon shone in through the window, reflecting perfectly pale and round in the cup right in front of her. _

_ She looked up and smiled. Angela could never tell if it was forced or not. “Ah, Dr. Ziegler… My apologies.” She looked around. “Tea helps settle my nerves.” _

_ “I believe you’re typically supposed to drink it, captain.” _

_ She laughed. “Typically.” _

_ “But I am concerned now. What could possibly warrant this?” Angela gestured around. _

_ “Hmm.” Ana reached out to the cup in front of her, one finger tracing along the edge. “I was simply thinking about where I have failed in the past. Where I might fail again in the future.” She pulled the cup closer as she talked, her shadow blotting out the reflection on its surface. “There is change coming on the wind.” _

_ “That is not always a bad thing.” Angela said, hesitantly. _

_ Ana looked up, and for a moment Angela could see the intense weariness in her eyes before it was replaced by that familiar steel. They considered each other for several moments. “That’s true.” Ana finally said, lifting the cup to her lips. She took a long sip before continuing. “Don’t let me keep you up, doctor. Go to sleep.” _

 

* * *

 

Fareeha found the note on her bed when she came back from breakfast, written in a loose, messy hand.

 

_ I thought you might want this back. _

_ -Angela _

 

Fareeha picks it up. Underneath, she sees another piece of paper. Yellowed and creased, it had been carefully smoothed out and refolded into a neat square. Fareeha picks it up as well, and stands there, considering the papers in her hands. Last night had been a rollercoaster. The feelings had come in an overwhelming flood, and then they were gone, leaving nothing but surreal numbness in their wake. Now, they’re back—but more controlled. 

Fareeha puts both notes in the top drawer of her nightstand. She walks down to Angela’s office.

“Angela.” Fareeha pushes open the door gently, to find Angela once again sitting at her desk scribbling onto yet another page overflowing with notes. 

She looks up, stands, and tucks a few stray strands of hair behind her ear with ink-stained fingers. “Fareeha! I’m sorry I couldn’t catch you during breakfast—” She cuts off and clears her throat. “Admittedly, I didn’t try very hard.”

Fareeha stares. “Alright.”

“I feel like I didn’t make it clear enough last night how sorry I am.” Angela’s head lowers. “I hope I can make up for lost trust.”

Fareeha sighs deeply and steps closer. Her voice lowers. “Listen, I’ve been thinking. I’m not that mad about your interference. I didn’t want to arrest him, and part of me is…” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I don’t want to admit it but part of me is almost relieved you did it. I’m more upset with the fact that you didn’t tell me.”

Angela suddenly appears to find her shoes very interesting. “I didn’t know what you would have thought of me.”

“Angela.” Fareeha leans down slightly. “I have always thought that you’re a person with strong values that doesn’t back down from doing hard things to uphold them. Sometimes I might disagree, but that doesn’t make me think less of you.”

“Is that right? I once testified against my friends. I can’t imagine that invites much respect.”

Fareeha winces.  _ The museum.  _ “I was upset; I didn’t mean what I said back then. Overwatch had stepped far outside its bounds, and that was hard for me to accept.” She takes a deep breath. “We can both say ‘it’s okay’ as much as we want, but that doesn’t do anything if we don’t try to move on from our mistakes and be better.”

“Move on..?” Angela turns the words over in her mind, her tone simultaneously tinted with sadness and hope. “That might take a long time, if it happens at all.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“Alright.” Angela nods, almost more to herself than anything. “So am I.”

“Great.” She steps away, voice raising back to a normal volume. “Let me know when you free up some more time. We need to start practicing again.”

“This shouldn’t take much longer.” Angela looks back to her computer. “A few days, maybe. Unless I find something really odd that needs cross referencing.”

“I see. What are you looking into?”

“I’m analyzing some of the things we found in Oasis but never had time to really look at.” Angela returns to her seat. “This one’s an extensive paper about genetic modification that Satya found. Winston asked me to look into it simply because of the unusual abilities and appearances of some Talon operatives he’s encountered.” She gives the screen a look of marked disgust. “I have to say I loathe reading her work. She even writes insufferably.”

“Dr. O’Deorain?” Fareeha gives the notepad a closer, more curious look. She doesn’t discern anything from it—the writing is tiny, smudged, and scrawling.

“I can’t even imagine the means by which most of this data was gotten. Or rather, I can imagine, I just don’t want to.” Angela also looks down at her notepad, then clicks a pen and dots a sentence particularly vehemently.

“Do you think she’s involved with Talon then?”

Angela shrugs. “That woman has never done anything for anyone other than herself and has no moral boundaries keeping her in check. If the reward was large enough, she’d do anything, no matter how reprehensible.” Angela’s eyes shift back to her computer. “In other words, I wouldn’t be surprised. But if she was involved with Talon, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to so much as hint at it in a publication.”

“Interesting.” Fareeha stares thoughtfully into the air. She snaps out of it abruptly. “I should go. Good luck with the rest of that.”

“Thank you.” Angela’s attention has already diverted itself almost completely to her work. She just nods vaguely as Fareeha leaves.

Fareeha closes the door behind her and leans against it for a moment, pressing her back into the cool metal. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding. Zenyatta was right. Even that short exchange had been harder than she thought it would have been. She takes a moment to clear her head, shaking it slightly as if the act alone could sweep the sudden anxiety away.

 

* * *

 

Angela puts her pen down with a resounding, final  _ click. _ She leans back and sighs, her breath pushing strands of hair away from her face. Angela pauses to comber her fingers through her hair, pulling those stray strands back and tucking them behind her ear. She squints at the small fluorescent clock in the corner of the room and then outside, where the clouds are painted shades of orange by the swiftly setting sun.

She stretches, cringing a little at the sound of her spine popping. She stands up and brushes her hair out of her face (again, for she had seemingly lost her hair clips), inspects her coffee mug (empty, save for a brown stain at the bottom), and turns to the side door leading into the medbay.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Angela’s tired eyes take a moment to focus on Lena, sitting on the bed with a large screen suspended in front of her.

“Hm?” Angela rubs her eyes and squints at the screen. “Ah, good evening Emily.”

“Oh, yes, good evening Dr. Ziegler!” Anga walks closer, coming into view of Lena’s camera. She musters up a weak smile.

“You look exhausted. Are you alright?” Emily leans closer to the camera, wide eyes scanning over Angela’s face.

“I’m fine. It’s merely been a long, tedious work day.”

Lena crosses her arms and mutters something about “long” and “tedious”. She gives Angela her best dirty look, which, naturally, isn’t very good.

Now it’s Emily’s turn to smile weakly. “Oh stop that, we all know it’s for the best.”

“Though, you could stand to actually get up and get some exercise sometime.” Angela frowns at Lena. “Anyways, Emily, I don’t believe we’ve talked directly about this yet, and for that I’m sorry. I’d send her over if I could, you are the one person she sits still and stays out of trouble for after all, but we have security concerns and not enough people to spare for a proper escort right now—”

Emily holds up a hand. “I understand. It’s not a big deal, really. I hear everything is going smoothly though?”

Angela inclines her head. “Indeed. She’s quite the speedy healer. I have additionally told Genji that I would try to get her out of here in time for his trip with Zenyatta, so you shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

“Wait, really?” Lena stares wide-eyed at Angela. “I can go with them?”

“Well, I can’t make promises.” Angela says. “I understand, however, that it is very important to you, so again, I’ll try my best. I believe you’d be able to stop by London on the way back, if you wanted to.”

“If I wanted to.” Lena snorts. “I would rather die than  _ not  _ go.”

“You’d better not.” Angela frowns disapprovingly. “Well, I need to go… feed the cats, I think.” Angela straights up and turns away. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Right.” Lena murmurs. 

Emily watches Angela go. “You guys have cats?”

“Oh yeah, Brig’s in love with them. She practically adopts every stray that she sees. Angela and Hana have been taking care of them for her while she’s gone.”

“Huh. I never noticed.”

“Yeah, they mostly hang out around the hangar or in the upper storage closets. They’re not allowed in a lot of the rooms for sanitary reasons.”

“Makes sense. Oh! By the way…” Emily’s voice fades as Angela steps through the door. It closes with a rush of air behind her. She closes her eyes for a long moment, willing her dull headache away.  _ If only _ —

“Mrow _. _ ” Angela opens one eye and looks down. A small, fluffy cat rubs up against her ankles, purring. Its fur is mottled brown and black, and every so often it looks up at her with wide, round golden eyes. Angela doesn’t recognize it. It meows again, a little more insistently this time.

“Alright, you’re not supposed to be here.” Angela leans down and picks it up. The cat doesn’t complain, instead choosing to settle immediately into her arms. Angela pats it lightly on the head as she strides off down the hall.

The smell of vanilla suffuses the air as Angela pushes open the door to the kitchen. “Hana, have you—” Angela breaks off, eyes trailing first to Hana, then Lúcio, then Fareeha. “What are you doing?”

“Baking.” Lúcio grins. “Fareeha’s really good at it!”

“Is she?” Angela looks at Fareeha more closely. “Huh.”

“Lú’s really good at it too!” Hana chuckles. “I’m really not, so they’re teaching me. But anyways, did you want something?”

“I was just wondering if you’d fed the cats.” Angela glances down at the kitten in the crook of her arm.

“Uh, yeah, they wouldn’t have let me forget.” Hana leans closer. “Huh, never seen that one before. Is it a kitten?”

“I found it outside the medbay.” Angela shrugs. “Well, I suppose I’ll take it down to the hangar then? Or the workshops, maybe.”

Fareeha dusts some flours off of her hands and approaches. She reaches out with two fingers and scritches it on the base of its neck. “Cute.” She murmurs.

“Yeah.” Angela stares at Fareeha.

“Wait, wait, hold on. You think Brigitte’s still awake?” Hana pulls out her phone and with a flick of a finger turns it on. She taps it a few more times and puts it to her ear.

“Hana, she’s probably busy.” 

“Hey!” Almost on queue, Hana chirps into her phone. “We found like, a kitten? You know all the cats right, is this a new one?” She pauses, then looks over to Angela. “Mottled brown and and black, really tiny, um, fluffy? Long haired I think. There’s a little bit of white on the belly. Hold on.” She turns around and holds up her phone, pointing the camera at Angela.

“Here.” Angela steps closer.

Hana puts her phone back to her ear. “It is? Wonder where it came from? Do you think it was one of the others? No? Okay, so what do we do? Yeah, yeah, I know, but what about like… a name?” Her eyes suddenly go starry. “Can we name it? How do you know it’s her? That’s kinda weird. Alright, alright, but  _ can  _ we name her?” Hana grins and gives the room a thumbs up. “She says we can name the kitten, you guys!”

“Looks like a Muppet to me.” Lúcio says.

“Lúcio!” Angela gives him a look as he laughs. “How do you even know something that old?”

“They’re not that old.” Hana looks closer at the kitten, with its long hair and somewhat flat face. “She does look like a Muppet.”

“She reminds me of a bird.” Fareeha points at the brown bars. “Very feathery, don’t you think?”

“You like birds, huh?” Hana looks closer. “I can see it.”

“Birds are nice.” Fareeha mumbles. “She has very large yellow eyes. Owl, or Potoo, perhaps?”

“Bird  _ are  _ nice. To be beautiful and to fly, isn’t that the dream?” Angela chuckles softly. “Well, in the case of the potoo, perhaps not  _ beautiful _ , per se.”

“Are those the ones with the really big eyes that look confused all the time?” Lúcio grins. “I like it!”

“So do I! It’s cute!” Hana puts her phone back to her ear. “And majority rules so it’s settled! Hey! We named her ‘Potoo’!” She laughs. “Yeah, alright, good night!”

“Well, now that that’s over with, I’m going to get her out of here.” Angela turns back towards the door, the kitten peeking around her arm with her wide golden eyes. “As a reminder, don’t let animals into the training rooms, ranges, labs, or any of the common areas including the kitchen, commons, and medbay. And wash your hands often!”

“We know!” Lúcio calls after her. “Hey, come back if you have the time! You can help us eat!”

Angela laughs before she lets the door close. “Well, I can’t turn down an opportunity like that, can I?”

Angela steps from the warm kitchen light into the much more glaring fluorescence of the hall. Then, from even that into darkness. The workshops had been built right next to the hangar, for purposes of convenience. To save power, the entire sector stayed unlit almost always. With the Lindholms gone, the workshops remain cold and empty. Angela spots the food bowls set out on the floor at the mouth of Brigitte’s workspace. She sets Potoo down next to them, glancing over them quickly. Empty. It all seems like a sad place. Angela looks around, spotting a bushy white tail whisking around the corner, and despite herself, she smiles. Well, not  _ all  _ sad.

“Ow, ow ow ow.” Hana inhales deeply, sucking air in through her teeth. “Too hot, too hot.”

“Man, I  _ just  _ said wait for it to cool.” Lúcio looks on, bemused. “Is it good though?”

“Yeah!” Hana hisses slightly in pain. “Ah, my tongue.”

“What’s going on in here?” Winston pokes his head into the room, Angela just barely peeking over his shoulder.

“Hey Winston!” Lúcio gives him a cheerful wave. “We’re giving Hana a crash course on baking.”

“Hm.” Winston sniffs the air. “Is that vanilla? I wasn’t aware we had that.”

“I ran down to the store and bought some the other day.” Lúcio produces a bowl of what appears to be icing. “And powdered sugar, among other things.”

“I see.” Winston shrugs. “Well, as long as it was your money…” He pauses and scratches the back of his head apologetically, almost knocking Angela over. “Ah, I’m being a little pedantic, aren’t I? Sorry. I’m still in the work mindset.”

“We’ve all been there.” Fareeha stands back, sipping tea and admiring her work. “Want some cake?”

“Uh-uh.” Lúcio cuts in. “We have to ice it first, and we can’t ice it until it’s cooled.”

“We can eat these while we wait!” Hana picks up her roll and bites it before almost immediately dropping it and hissing again. “Nope, still hot.”

“Your self-control is awful.” Angela ducks under Winston’s arm and steps back into the room.

“Hey, I got my job for my brilliant reflexes, aim, and strategic, team-oriented mind.” Hana wanders over to Fareeha’s side and pours herself a cup of tea. “Not self-control.”

Fareeha chuckles. “One would think you’d have picked some of it up over time.”

“No hesitation! Once you decide to do something you just go ahead and do it!”

“How about making intelligent and informed decision? Lúcio  _ did _ say… what, 10-15 minutes?” Fareeha takes a sip of her tea, ignoring Hana’s sputters of general outrage.

“You’re awful.” Hana grumbles.

“She is.” Angela says, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You should get back at her by teaching her to do something you’re good at. Video games, maybe?”

“That’s…” A devious grin spreads over Hana’s face. “Actually not a bad idea. I could call Yuna and Kyung-soo.”

“Who now?” Fareeha looks up, brows knit.

Lúcio beats Hana to the reply. “D.Mon and King. They both played at the same level as Hana; one as a teammate, the other as a rival.” He pauses and clears his throat. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them. They’re both pretty popular, being MEKA pilots and all.”

“Ah.” Fareeha takes another sip of tea. “So you’re going to bully me.”

“Yes.” Hana replies matter-of-factly.

Fareeha considers the prospect for some time. “Bully Angela too; she suggested it.”

Angela raises her hands. “I have work.” She looks over her shoulder. “Winston can back me up on this.” 

Winston suddenly becomes somber. “Yes, she does. Speaking which, I had intended to discuss a few things with you.” He shakes his head. “I got distracted. But never mind, it’s late, we all need a break.” 

“Sure do!” Lena appears in the doorway, flashing that signature grin. “Hey big guy! Glad to see you out and about.”

Angela arcs an eyebrow. “I thought you were determined to sulk in bed all day.”

“Eh, I need to stretch my legs.” Lena inhales deeply. “Plus, it smells good in here.”

“Of all the things…” Angela sighs. “Well, I’m glad you’re up at least.”

“We all are.” Winston ambles over to the counter, giving Lena a friendly nod on the way. “It has been a while since many of us were in the same place, hasn’t it?” 

“Yeah.” Lúcio hops off the countertop. “Well, that’s been about enough time, so we can finally eat all this!” Hana’s hand instantly shoots out.

Angela slips up to Fareeha’s side, watching the room break into general chaos. She leans a little closer. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Fareeha shrugs. “It’s therapeutic.” 

“I see.” 

“Besides,” Fareeha’s haze turns out the window, where the dark, clouded sky can just barely be seen through the bright reflections. “I spent a lot of time away from home. It’s better to be able to cook.” She gives Angela a curious look. “You seem surprised.”

Angela laughs. “I, like many, chose to survive my postsecondary education with the cheapest and fastest options available. I can’t cook.”

“Hm.” Fareeha considers this for a moment. “You should learn.”

“Oh no, I’m awful at it.” Angela waves her hand, almost nervously brushing off the idea. “If I really have nothing else to do I can always go work out.”

“You work out?”

“Not often.” Angela shakes her head. “There’s always more work to do.”

“So there is.” Fareeha sips her tea again. “But, since you threw me under the bus with Hana back there…”

“As interesting as it is, I think we should break off this trend of revenge education. None of us really have the time to be able to keep it up consistently, right?” Angela musters up a very forced sounding laugh. “Looks like Winston needs help managing everyone. I’d better go help.” She hurries away.

Fareeha watches Angela go, brows knit slightly in confusion. As she looks on, Lena darts past a very harried-looking Winston and pushes a sweet roll into Angela’s hands. Angela takes it indulgently and rolls her eyes when Lena refuses to leave until she eats it. 

Even from across the room, Fareeha can see the warmth light up her face. She relaxes, realizing that she had tensed up unconsciously. Fareeha suddenly finds herself the happiest she had been in weeks.  _ I’m glad.  _ Is all she can think.  _ I’m glad. _

 

* * *

 

“Winston.” Angela hurries to catch up, following the great dark shape into the dimly lit hall. “You wanted to talk.”

Winston looks around. “Yes, I did.” He ducks into the control center. “Please, come in. Athena?”

“No breaches detected. All security systems online.” The reply is accompanied by a shimmer of blue light rippling across every wall of the room.

“Thank you.” Winston coughs. “I did not wish to discuss this in front of the other agents.”

“And the new security?” Angela looks around. The blue light had gathered on the floor and ceiling and faded quickly.

“I have serious concerns about the security of our systems. The last time a breach occurred, I significantly upgraded Athena’s security capabilities and scanned everything to find any lingering malign elements. I am currently in the process of doing so again.” His voice lowers. “I spoke extensively with Genji regarding what happened. He says he was waylaid and his communication systems were taken over with the intent to lead the rest of you into a trap. He destroyed them when he realized what was happening and escaped. That’s concerning enough, but the truly worrying thing is how coordinated it all was. How did they know where he was? How did they even know he was there?”

“Moira did make it clear that she suspected either he or McCree were in the city. There were also moments where he could have been spotted.” Angela muses. “These were early on. There would have been time to set up something as basic as what we saw.” 

“Yes, and the plan before that? It was set up in a way that suggests they knew what your backup plan was.”

“It must have been in Genji’s history. And besides, there was little incentive for them to do this without a full understanding of the nature of the mission. Not even Talon would do something like that over research insignificant to them. I would have expected them to attack the watchpoint while most of our agents were gone to destabilize Overwatch’s public image, for example, but interfering with research on obscure physics experiments?” Winston rubs his temples and growls. “No, there was a breach before then. I’ve been trying to find and patch any possibilities, but I cannot throw out the idea that this breach may be more physical in nature.”

Angela considers this for several long minutes. “You think there might be a spy in our midst?” Her voice is flat.

“Perhaps. Or merely some bugs snuck into the building. Cameras and microphones. As it is, I ask you not not disclose any of your findings to any other than me.” As he says this, Winston’s voice becomes even more hushed.

“As you wish.” Angela inclines her head. “But that is a potential violation of—”

“I know.” Winston adjusts his glasses. “My hope is that no one will ask. But if they do… I will leave how you handle it to your discretion, but if you are forced to break that rule, I will take the blame.”

“Winston, you know you don’t need to do that.” Still, Angela runs her fingers anxiously through her hair, and a breath puffs out her cheeks as she contemplates the circumstances. “Let me know if I can ever assist with anything.”

“I will, thank you.” Winston nods. “That’s all.”

Angela turns away wordlessly, deep in thought. Above her head, rain begins to drum on the watchpoint roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to aim for a very specific sort of conflict and as of yet I am unsure if I'm hitting that mark. I've decided to stop worrying about it and just post this, keep writing, and see what happens, but I'm still very nervous about the whole thing. Depending on how the next few go, this is one chapter that I may come back and edit more heavily. I hope it doesn't come to that though!
> 
> Anyways, I'm also trying to decide if this is enough to warrant Ana's character tag. I don't want to pull a bait-and-switch with tags, you know?


	26. Dusk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The watchpoint gets a little fuller, and everyone takes a little break. But there's always something to do.

_“In my defense,” she raised her hands, “I was absolutely right.”_

_“You little brat.”_

_“Ohoo, you should see the look on your face right now.” She paused. “Do you still have a face?”_

_“Shut up.” A spiky, metal fist slammed into the wall, cracking concrete. “You had one job.”_

_“Really? Last time I counted it was more like—”_

_“Senseless drivel.” A new voice broke in. “Disappointing, as always.”_

_“Ah,_ vete a la chingada _! You people are impossible to please.”_

_“Hardly impossible. We set you a very reasonable goal.” Somewhere in the murk, a figure shifted into a distinct facepalm. “In the meantime, I have your little mess to sort out.”_

_“You have no faith.”_

_“In you?” The first voice crackled from near the wall. “No.”_

_“Listen, listen. It’ll work out.”_

_“No. It won’t.” The unnatural darkness receded, and with a clatter of the door the room lay empty._

 

_Sombra threw up her hands in exasperation. “Can I at least move back in?”_

 

* * *

 

_Clank._ Angela’s head snaps up in surprise, dragging her gaze from her feet to the hall ahead. Warm light brushes lightly against the usually dark walls, and as she watches, a shadow shifts against the wall and disappears. Winston’s warnings flash to the front of Angela’s mind, clearing away her cluttered thoughts. Angela slows her pace, and her hand moves back, brushing away her coat, fingers lightly touching the grip of her pistol.

“Snowball!” Angela jumps at the sudden sound, then peeks around the corner. Brigitte lifts a fat white cat into the air. “I missed you!” The cat looks impressively disinterested.

“Brigitte!” Angela lets out her breath, almost light-headed with relief. “I didn’t know you were back!”

“Oh, Angela!” Brigitte looks over her shoulder, still holding the cat in the air. “How are you? It’s been such a long time!” She sets the cat down, scratches it between the ears, and straightens up, turning to face Angela fully.

“It has, hasn’t it? I’ve been well! How was… er…” Angela lets her hands fall to her side. “...Russia! Right, you were in Russia. How was Russia?”

“Oh, it was… interesting. Cold. A really _wet_ cold,” Brigitte says, making a face. “There was a lot of snow that melted all over the machinery. We can always make some adjustments to some of the equipment, of course, but, you know, Reinhardt’s out there with his rockets and such and dad’s… everything’s on fire with him, really.”

Angela snorts. “Of course. You’re all safe and in good health then? No troubles with the arm or back?”

“No, nothing out of the ordinary. Mostly just aches and such.” Brigitte shrugs. “Surprisingly, neither got into too much trouble.”

“On the front lines for months and they didn’t go pick a fight with something far larger than either can handle?”

“I did my best to rein them in.” Brigitte scratches the back of her head.

“Oh? However did you manage it?” Angela smiles. “You must tell me your secret.”

“Ha, well, maybe it’s a family thing?” Brigitte laughs a little, but her face quickly becomes a bit more serious. “It’s not like we were really on the front lines though, not that much anyways. I get the feeling they didn’t _really_ trust us.”

“We did have a rather large fallout with Russia back when.” Angela gives Brigitte a sympathetic look. “Reinhardt is very hard to dislike though, and you were there for a long time. I’m sure the gesture was appreciated.”

“I guess.” Brigitte turns away and begins rummaging around in a duffel bag on the floor. It clanks as she pulls out a few pieces of metal. “Well, I’m back now, so I guess I’ve got time to work on some things.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “It’s all work with everyone around here, isn’t it? You aren’t jet lagged at all? Go out, take a walk, get some sunlight!”

“Aw, but I’ve got all these ideas—”

“And you will be quite tired soon so you won’t be able to do much good work anyways.” Angela circles around to Brigitte’s other side and nudges her towards the nearest door. “Go on, shoo!”

Brigitte laughs and raises her hands in surrender, allowing herself to be pushed across the floor. “Alright, alright, if you insist.”

“I do insist!” Angela gives Brigitte one last shove, and looks around. “By the way, where is Torbjörn? I would think he’d be in his workshop by now.”

“Hm, now that you mention it, I think he said something about a nap.”

Angela clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Honestly.”

“Are you going to try and wake him up? I think he’ll be grumpy all day either way. I’d save myself the headache.” Brigitte chuckles. “Oh, and last I checked, Reinhardt was off investigating the watchpoint’s food supplies. I think he wanted bacon?”

“He’ll have to settle for something else. McCree took all of our bacon with him when he left, and no one’s cared enough to get more since then.”

“McCree took it?” Brigitte’s eyebrows knit together. “Do you mean ate?”

“No, he took it. I mean, yes, he did eat a lot of it, but he took the rest. Don’t ask me how. I’ve never even seen him carry a pack.” Angela sighs. “I’m not complaining that the bacon’s gone; it’s generally terrible for your health, but I do worry about that man. Running around smoking, drinking, and eating… frankly, eating garbage. I’d count it as a victory if he doesn’t come back missing his other arm.”

“What did happen to that, by the way? The workmanship on that arm is… interesting.” Brigitte traces a shape in the air. “Very strong, actually, but the _wiring_ on that thing! It’s like it was done by a… a…” She shuts her mouth and coughs delicately. “A-anyways.”

Angela shrugs. “Ask him yourself if you want. It’s a different story every time.” She shakes her head. “Well, I’m off to go bother Reinhardt. There are very few voices of reason around here nowadays.”

Brigitte laughs. “I guess Fareeha wouldn’t really fill her usual impulse control role, huh? Good luck! I’ll go take a walk, then.”

“Great! Great.” Angela smiles and pats Brigitte on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back.”

 

* * *

 

“Agent Amari.” Winston clears his throat. The words seem almost awkward in his throat. “Er, Fareeha. Could I trouble you for a moment?” Fareeha turns, peeling her attention away from Reinhardt’s valiant attempts at singing. She eyes Winston curiously as he drifts further into the hall. He leads her to a small space off of the main corridor, awkwardly squeezed between the commons and broom closet. The little alcove ends in a door leading outside. Winston takes up most of the space in a comically un-stealthy fashion.

“What is it?” Fareeha peers closely at Winston. The shadows over his eyes make them look curiously flat. His furrowed brow darkens them even more.

“I have two things to talk about. First things first, regarding a new mission. As you may have surmised, Agent McCree has been working in the American midwest for some time now.” Fareeha nods. “He recently contacted me with the belief that his… investigation has progressed to the point where he needs backup. As both Lena and Genji are on leave, he specifically requested that you join him for this.”

Fareeha holds up a hand, stopping Winston. “In combat? I am not a particularly stealthy fighter, Winston, for a mission such as this…”

“He indicated that stealth was not entirely necessary in this situation.”

“Alright. Well, can he not recruit the help of the government?”

“He has reason to believe the local government is corrupt, and does not wish to involve them any more than he has to.” Winston casts Fareeha sympathetic look upon seeing the marked disgust on her face. “I know. Anyways, I don’t want either of you going into that without any sort of medical support, so I wish to assign Angela as well. Neither Brigitte nor Lúcio are well equipped to work with airborne teammates.”

“I see.” Fareeha’s voice remains impassive. “I’ll ask Brigitte to take a look at the Raptora then. How long until we leave?”

“10 days.”

Fareeha nods. “We can double down on practice leading up to departure, then. I don’t suppose you have any details?”

Winston shakes his head. “No.”

“Understandable,” Fareeha says. She shifts on her feet and folds her arms. “You said you had two things to talk about?”

“Yes, er… It is a somewhat… awkward subject. Concerning Angela.”

 

* * *

 

“Angela.” Fareeha nudges the door open with her shoulder. “Hey.”

Angela looks up, clearly confused. “Hey.”

Fareeha, holding two paper cups, raises a hand. “Coffee?” Angela stares. “It’s… chocolate,” Fareeha says somewhat lamely. “Swiss. The barista was weirdly excited about telling me all about it. ”

Angela gives Fareeha a curious look. “You went out to get this?” She gets up from her desk and reaches out to accept the cup.

“You don’t seem to enjoy going out all that often. It is nice and cool out today, so I was wondering if you wanted to go on a walk with me?”

Angela’s eyes shift up and meet Fareeha’s briefly. “Alright.”

Fareeha is right. The wind coming off the ocean puts a noticeable chill in the air, which, combined with the afternoon sun, turns the day pleasantly cool in the shadows and pleasantly warm in the light. The breeze also brings the calls of seabirds and the rush of waves on the shore. A lonely drone from some far off ship echoes off the cliffs and ripples through the grass. The two walk in silence, each with their free hand tucked into their respective pockets.

“So.” Fareeha says.

“So.” Angela sips her coffee, savoring the sweet taste of chocolate.

“Jesse’s gone and found some trouble again.” Fareeha glances at Angela out of the corner of her eye. She turns to look at the birds circling in the air.

“Has he now?”

“Winston’s sending us in to help him out.” A dry smile touches Fareeha’s lips. “Apparently he requested it specifically.”

“I see.” Angela’s eyes also turn to the birds. “There are a few more than usual today.”

Fareeha turns and gives Angela a look. “Do you count them?”

“Yes.” Angela smiles shyly. “Just idly. Out the window. It’s relaxing. Anyways, what’s the time frame?”

“We’re leaving in 10 days,” Fareeha says, right before drinking some of her own coffee and watching the steam curl into the air. “Late flight.”

“Alright. I assume you want to get back to daily training then?” Angela pulls out her phone and checks it idly. “I’ll give the Valkyrie a check-over later.”

“If you could.” Fareeha inclines her head. “How many are there usually?”

“How many..? Oh, you mean birds?” Angela laughs. “Of course you do. Um, recently it’s been around around 12 or so.”

“Huh.” Fareeha focuses a bit more on the birds in the sky. She counts 17.

Some more time passes in silence, with the two walking between the alternating bands of shadow and light cast by the various structures of the watchpoint. The coffee is almost finished, leaving little except for the the thicker, cocoa-flavored residue near the bottom of the cups.

“This is going to be awkward.” Fareeha mumbles quickly under her breath. Before Angela can have a chance to ask what she means, she takes a deep breath and turns to Angela. “A long time ago, when you first came here, you had a conversation with Winston. Do you still remember that?”

“Do I…” Angela’s brow furrows. “What?”

“I mean…” Fareeha’s hand moves to her hair, fingers playing nervously with the gold ornaments. “Are you going to leave?”

Angela stares. Fareeha looks away, sun glinting between her fingers and in her eyes. The echoes of a conversation long past rise from the back of her mind. _“You need a doctor… I’m here until you find another one.”_ She closes her eyes. It feels like that was a lifetime ago. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Angela opens her eyes to find Fareeha staring right at her. “Winston’s been worrying himself sick over it,” She says quietly.

“Well.” Angela looks away and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Zenyatta, Brigitte, Lúcio… they can all treat injuries, but I’d like to see any of them get out their own medical degree. So you’re all stuck with me for a while yet at least.”

Fareeha’s gaze burns into Angela’s head for a few moments more, and then she looks away with a curt “Hm.” She finishes the last dregs of her coffee.

_Besides,_ Angela thinks to herself, gazing at the back of Fareeha’s head, _I’d never leave you._ Her shoulders slump slightly. _Unless you wanted me to._ Angela clears her throat. “Practice, right? Starting tomorrow, usual time, usual place?”

“Usual time, training range C. We need to work on combat in more enclosed spaces. I’ll let Winston know we’re using it, and see if I can convince any of the others to come spar with us.” Fareeha turns and pauses briefly at Angela’s side. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here,” she murmurs. With that, she brushes by Angela, moving into a brisk stride back into the watchpoint.

Angela is left standing there, among the grass, the sun and wind in her hair, cup quickly cooling in her hand. She slowly removes one hand from her pocket and wraps it around herself, hugging her coat close to her waist. The words loop, over and over in her head. _I’m glad you’re here._ A warm glow pushes up inside her heart, and it feels like it’s threatening to burst out of her chest. Angela lifts her other hand to her face and presses the back of her fingers against her skin, feeling the flush in her cheeks. She lowers her head, tucking her chin to her chest, eyes wide.

Abruptly, Angela turns on her heel and hurries back inside.

 

* * *

 

“Angela—” Angela turns her head to look down and back moments before slamming into something very hard and very metal. The blue shields flicker, and Fareeha’s Rapora suit swims before her eyes. It moves by very quickly. Angela takes a moment to wonder why that is before she hits something, tumbles several times, and ends up on her back. The shields crackle again. A shadow looms over her and she has just enough time to roll out of the way before a chunk of metal slams into the ground where her arm had just been.

“Um, just checking again, you’re _absolutely_ sure it’s fine for me to do this?” The head of Brigitte’s flail snaps back onto its shaft. She looks down at Angela, then at the fresh dent in the metal platform.

“The sparring shields are strong. You’d have to be actually trying to kill someone to do any more than bruise them.” Satya’s voice filters cooly through the comms. “I would not allow anything to happen.”

“Right now though, you can hold off on that flail. We’ll call it a win for you.” Fareeha drops out of the sky and leans over Angela. “Ceiling, remember?”

“Yep.” Angela scrunches up her face. “I remember.”

“The shields do not prevent any sort of knockback,” Satya notes. “Colliding with most of the surfaces in this room at a high speed will result in considerable rebound.”

“I noticed.” Angela covers her eyes with an arm. “ _Huere—_ my head…”

“Are you alright?” Fareeha leans closer. “You were going very fast.”

“I’m fine,” Angela says, already feeling the tingling of the suit at work. “Just give the suit a few more moments to do its thing.” She sits up.

“Are you sure? Because if you have a concussion—”  Now Brigitte is leaning over Angela as well, eyes worried.

“I’d know if I had a concussion,” Angela says. “I’m fine. Let’s get back to it.”

“If you’re sure.” Fareeha straightens up and offers Angela a hand. Angela accepts it gratefully, clambering to her feet. “Brigitte, any insight?”

“Um, aside from ‘don’t fly into the ceiling’?” Brigitte taps her chin thoughtfully. “Well, don’t fly so high at all, actually. You’re distinctly trying to the stay close but not too close at the same time, so you’re sort of hovering in a really predictable area. If you fly lower, it gives you more possible verticality and you can make better use of the cover. You’re just not getting your full range of movement up there.”

“Noted.” Fareeha nods. “Let’s reset this and try again. Satya?”

“Certainly.” As she speaks, half of the structures in the room melt into translucent light, reshaping and rearranging themselves. It only takes Satya a few moments to lock everything back in, and Fareeha, Angela, and Brigitte move back to opposite sides of the space.

“I’m going to hold off on the jump jets this time.” Fareeha says out loud. With her helmet on, Angela can’t quite tell what she’s looking at.

“Alright.” Angela considers her, then the new landscape of the room. “What if we walked?”

“Hm?” The curving visor tilts in Angela’s direction.

“At least at first. Look, Satya’s been very clever about this. These structures have all sorts of overhangs and the like sticking out of them. It’ll be challenging to even find Brigitte, especially if we can’t even hear her over the sound of our own suits. If we fly low and try to get angles under those overhangs, we’re suddenly working in a very tight space where maneuvering becomes difficult and dangerous. If we walk, we might be able to get the drop on her.” Angela points as she says this, outlining the clustered structures dominating the room.

“Get the drop on her?” Fareeha frowns. “This suit isn’t exactly quiet, even without the jets.” Still, she pauses, considering the proposition. “We could fly until we find her, then cut off the boosters and strike when we get a good opportunity.”

Angela shrugs. “Very well, let’s try it.” Her wings flare to life, flicking gold light through the air. “After you.”

Satya’s voice cuts off Fareeha’s reply, if there was one. “All parties are ready. You may commence training match #3.”

Brigitte swings her head from side to side, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. The sounds all bounce and echo off of the metal walls and high ceiling, making it more of a challenge than usual. She looks up, scanning the air. Nothing. She had to hand it to the pair; navigating the veritable obstacle course of walls and platforms in flight could not be easy. Still, it’s unnerving to hear the jets but be able to even see their glow. She hefts her shield and continues forward, sticking close to the wall.

All of a sudden, the room falls silent. Brigitte stops, standing stock still, and listens, trying to still the clatter of her armor and the sound of her own labored breathing. She doesn’t hear anything, not even the quieter, distinctive _flick_ of the Valkyrie suit’s wings or the tap of feet on metal. She does, however, see a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Brigitte whirls, shield raised. The air is still. Her eyes sweep from side to side, but whatever she saw, or thinks she saw, is no longer there. She lowers her shield slightly, peering more closely at the space without the interfering light of the shield. The moment she does, she hears something behind her. A blast, higher pitched than the usual rockets. Brigitte spins, suddenly finding herself facing down the barrel of Fareeha’s rocket launcher.

Brigitte raises her hands. “You win.” She leans against the nearest wall, breathing heavily as Fareeha lowers her rocket launcher. “That was kind of unsettling.”

Fareeha grins. “Was it?” She looks over her shoulder at Angela. Their eyes meet and they share a little moment of victory before Fareeha turns back to Brigitte. “So you think it’ll work?”

“Oh yeah. What was that…” Brigitte pauses and gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

“That was me.” Angela takes her staff and flicks the end into the air and down again.

“That’s… unexpected.” Brigitte stretches and winces. “I went in expecting to see you in the air, and even past that I assumed that you’d be together. So that’s good! It caught me off guard.”

“A bit gimmicky though, don’t you think? After this, we need to do some more solo work on maneuvering in tight spaces.” Angela brushes some sweat-soaked hair out of her face. “Speaking of which, it’s lunchtime, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Satya says. “As I have just been very… enthusiastically informed by Hana Song.”

“Let her know we’ll get washed up and join her shortly, if she’d like to wait a bit,” Fareeha says, amusement tingeing her voice. “And Brigitte, thank you for coming in to spar with us a bit.”

“Yep! No problem! I love the challenge!” Brigitte slings her deactivated shield over her back and stands up. “I’ve got some tinkering to do for the rest of the day, but let me know if you need anything else. I’m always happy to take part in a match or too.”

“We’re probably going to be working on our own for the rest of the day, and I want to get Lúcio in with us at least once or twice before we leave. Hana too, if Winston’ll let us take her mech—”

“ _—_ Tokki.” Brigitte interrupts. Fareeha breaks off and stares. Brigitte laughs and shrugs. “The mech’s named Tokki. She was really particular about that when I talked to her about it.”

“Right. Well, if Winston’ll let us take Tokki in here, I’d like to face her and see how that goes. Those MEKA mechs are tough.”

“I don’t see why he _wouldn’t_ let us bring the mech in,” Angela says. “He let it happen before, as long as we don’t go unsupervised _—_ oh that reminds me, thank you, Satya, for overseeing and helping to set up the range.”

“Certainly.” Satya’s voice has a slightly uneasy tinge to it, as if she wasn’t expecting the thanks.

“Anyways, even if Satya’s busy, Athena can always supervise, I believe,” Angela looks like she’s about to say something more, but loses her train of thought.

“Sounds like it’ll be a busy week for you two.” Brigitte laughs. “It’ll be over before you know it, if you pack it with work like that.”

“Not too fast, I hope. I would like to make some progress.” Fareeha smiles though, and begins to walk towards the locker rooms. “We need to hit the ground running in America.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "vete a la chingada" means "fuck off" in Mexican Spanish  
> "Huere" means "fucking" in Swiss German (as an intensifier, not, as far as I can tell, a verb)


	27. The Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little thread reveals itself. In the meantime, sometimes affection makes for a... lack of common sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Lesbians are useless!!!)
> 
> Once again, I have failed to thoroughly proofread this. However, I really wanted to just get it finished and posted so I can uh... turn my attention towards the event >> And I feel guilty about constantly harassing my friends to come beta read for me. This one's late, I'll admit it, but I hope its length will make up for that a bit!

“Howdy.” McCree raises his arm in a leisurely greeting, the setting sun behind him flashing off of the prosthetic. He holds his hat at his side, but the sun still casts thick shadows over his face, offset by the glow of his cigar. As if on queue, he lowers his arm and removes the cigar from his lips. He studies the look on Angela’s face before sighing and dropping it, crushing it into the concrete with the heel of his boot. He gives it a wistful look. “You’re gonna be the death of me, doc.”

“No,” Angela points at the still smoking cigar. “ _ That _ will, if not the drinking.”

“I like to think that it’d be something more like this.” McCree draws Peacemaker and spins it with a quick flick of his wrist. He chuckles dryly and places the gun back into the holster. 

“Not if I can help it, though you could try a little harder not to get shot.” Angela brushes by, then turns around and gives Fareeha a pointed look. “That goes for you too!”

Fareeha flashes Angela a grin. “No promises.” She turns to McCree and pulls him into a quick hug. “How have you been, Jesse? What kind of trouble have you been getting into?”

McCree does his best to look offended. “Why do you assume that I’ve been getting into trouble?” 

“Ha!” Behind him, Angela throws back her head. 

Fareeha smirks. “Isn’t getting into trouble your job? What’s Winston paying you for?”

“Eh, can’t argue with that.” McCree shrugs. He jerks his head over his shoulder at a black car behind him.“Anyways, let’s get going. Got all the equipment you need?”

“Sure.” Fareeha follows as McCree turns around and opens the driver's side door. “Angela, are you alright with sitting in the back?”

Angela shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“By the way doc,” McCree says as he slides into the driver’s seat, “You can heal bullet wounds, so why do you get on my case about a little bit of smoking? It’s not like you can’t fix me back up.”

“‘A little bit’?” Angela snorts. “I wouldn’t call it that. And just because I  _ can  _ ‘fix’ you, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take preventative measures. In fact, the widely held consensus is that—”

“An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, yeah, yeah.” McCree sighs. 

“Not quite the way I was going to word it, but essentially yes.” Angela gives McCree a curious look. “Is that an American proverb?”

“Uh, yeah, probably.” McCree scratches his head. “Dunno where it came from originally.” 

“I like it.” Angela says, turning her head to look out the window as the city rapidly dwindles behind them. “It would save us both some money if you would take better care of yourself.”

“Hmm?” McCree looks over his shoulder. “You don’t… charge, right?”

“For the work? No, my salary is pretty fixed. But for the equipment maintenance and the resources, well, anything that goes over budget comes out of your paycheck.” She grins and keeps her eyes fixed out the window as both McCree and Fareeha turn and give her a suddenly alarmed look.

“That explains a lot.” McCree returns his eyes to the road. “I always figured Gabe was mad at me or somethin’”

Fareeha raises her eyebrows. “You thought he would just decide to pay you less on occasion?”

“Yeah.” McCree shrugs. “Seems like something he’d do.”

“It would be something that he’d do.” Angela admits.

“Think he’d do it more to Genji though.” McCree flips a switch and lets the car drive itself as it pulls onto a large highway. “Best settle in, it’s a long road.”

“Genji didn’t really have a salary per se, at least not in the beginning.” Angela says. She pulls her gaze from the window and sprawls out in the back seat. “Interesting that you gave the shortest person the seat with the most leg room, by the way.”

“We’re nice like that.” Fareeha leans back. McCree half coughs, choking back a laugh. 

“Of course.” Angela rolls her eyes. “I suppose now that we’re here, McCree, do you mind giving us some more information? Winston was rather sparse.”

“Hm? Oh sure.” McCree sits back and shoved his hands in his pockets, thinking. “Should I start at the beginning?”

“You said we have plenty of time to burn.” Fareeha folds her arms across her chest. “Might as well.”

“Aw, alright.” McCree takes a deep breath. “Winston sent me out here to work on one of Blackwatch’s unfinished… projects. Deadlock. Way back in the day Gabe rolled in, tore up half of ‘em, and dragged me off the streets, and would have torn up the other half too, but then the Shimadas went and started some shit and then Talon reared its ugly head and… anyways. We never got around to cleanin’ up the old gang. They took some time to lick their wounds and regroup, and they went right back to the usual. Hijacking and robbing what they can and smuggling it all across the continent. Maybe even beyond.”

“Siberia.” Fareeha murmurs. It feels like that was a lifetime ago.

McCree shrugs. “Maybe. That’s a little beyond their usual, if you catch my drift. Deadlock works mostly with stuff that’s a little more portable. Things that need only one or two people to move and operate. I’ve caught wind of a big-ass bomb that got stolen some time back though, so maybe the old gang’s been expanding their operations somewhat. We’re not going after that. That all went down near the Gorge and going in there right now is a suicide mission.” McCree sighs, looking for all the world like he wishes he had a cigar to dramatically take a drag of. “So I’ve been running around the old stomping grounds, checking in on some old hideouts and looking for new ones. Found out that they pretty much abandoned the old ones; probably figured that Blackwatch knew about all of those and didn’t want to take chances. I was gonna sit back and just watch for the time being, you know, get the lay of the land and see who I can count on to help when it comes time to bring this all down instead of arresting me on sight for subterfuge or whatever. Maybe hop down south and pay Los Muertos a visit before I try to start shit, you know? Then I see some Talon folks show up.”

“Talon?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “How do you know it’s them? They can’t be cocky enough to wear uniforms out in plain sight.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised. Remember that old belt that I had? The one with the Deadlock skull buckle?”

“Yes, it was hideous and I’m glad you got rid of it.” Angela nods to herself. “Even if you replaced it with… that…”

“What, you got a problem with this one? It’s cool!”

“It absolutely is not.” Fareeha says. McCree gasps and gives her a betrayed look as she says this. “But go on.”

“My point was that if you grease enough palms you can get away with anything. They weren’t wearing the creepy white masks though. I just know ‘em because they were dressed the same way back when they robbed the train and I got framed for it.” McCree crosses his arms and lets his wounded gaze linger on Fareeha a few moments longer before turning his eyes back to the road. “I want to catch them doing whatever the hell they’re doing before all the evidence gets shipped off to who knows where. Or before it gets too far anyways.”

“Alright.” Fareeha says. “How long until we get where we need to go? What’s the layout? How much resistance are we expecting?”

“Well, the place is just a cave. Old mine that dried up a long time ago. Most of it was collapsed when the miners left to prevent people from wandering into the more dangerous parts, but the entrance was left intact. Honestly it’s mostly just a hole in the ground. From what I can tell they just move crates in and out. Except when they’re making arrangements with other folks, I guess. The area’s fenced off with an old chain-link fence. They replaced the lock on the gate, but as far as I can tell that’s it. Either they don’t care overmuch about what’s inside or they’re confident in whoever’s inside. From what I know it’s a short tunnel down and one large cavern; the rest’s been sealed off.”

“That’s a little vague.” Fareeha sighs. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” She grins and ducks as McCree sits up straight and throws what appears to be an empty coffee cup at her head.

“It ain’t like I can just stroll in and look around. Every seedy bastard around here knows what I look like and they know that Deadlock’ll still pay whoever gets my head. The thing about one gate and one tunnel, it’s hard as hell to sneak in.” McCree reaches into his pockets, curses, and begins rummaging around in the center console compartment. He pulls out an empty bottle, grumbles, puts it back, and goes back to looking.

“Jesse McCree!” Angela sits up, and McCree looks up, catching her fiery eyes in the rearview mirror.

“Uh, sorry doc.” McCree begrudgingly withdraws. “I’m a little stressed.”

“We’re all a little stressed.” She snaps.

“I know.” He removes his hat and scratches his head. “Sorry,” he says again.

“No smoking. Especially not in an enclosed space like this. No drinking either.” Angela gives the compartment an evil eye. “I won’t allow it.”

“Aw doc, now that’s just unfair!” McCree slumps dramatically back into his seat and gives her an accusatory look. “A little hypocritical, don’t you think? Personally I think I do better than you; at least I have good taste in my liquor—”

“Wait a minute.” Fareeha sits up and looks around. “Angela, you drink?”

Angela stiffens and flushes deeply as McCree leaps to answer. “What, you didn’t know?” He turns and gives Angela his best shit-eating grin. “We’ve all got our vices. Hers just happens to be cheap vodka and beer.”

Fareeha sits in silence for a moment, seemingly processing this. At last, she opens her mouth. “He’s right, you  _ do _ have awful taste.”

Angela gasps and picks up another spent coffee cup, making to throw it at Fareeha’s head. She ducks again, and it bounces off the windshield. “I don’t—I didn’t do it for the taste!” She also jabs an accusatory finger in McCree’s direction. “You’re awful, do you know that?”

“Didn’t? Not what Lena and Em said. And if you don’t drink for the taste, then why do you do it? It’s not like you can’t afford any better.” McCree shrugs, and ducks as yet another cup almost nails him in the head.

“I don’t care to spend any more on such things!” Angela huffs and crosses her arms. “Besides, that was  _ one _ time a long time ago and I threw the whole bottle out. And, and it’s not like I did it often either; I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Yeah? What about the one voicemail you left Winston?” McCree grins and sticks out his tongue. “Sort of odd that you just so happened to be—”

“H-how do you know about that?” Angela flushes even deeper. “That was just… a bad night.”

“I dunno doc, we’ve got hours; if you want to talk about something...” McCree shrugs and leans back, trying and failing to wipe a smug look off his face.

“Absolutely not.” Angela crosses her arms and glowers at him.

“Huh.” Fareeha, who had slipped Angela’s mind, says. She looks over her shoulder. Angela looks up, the light of the dashboard reflecting electric blue in her eyes, and for a moment Fareeha sees a flicker of doubt, or fear even in those blue eyes. “I thought you were just a coffee and tea person.”

“I’m…” Angela looks askance. With just the slightest shift of her head, the light is lost, and her eyes are left dark. “I guess it’s a little hypocritical.”

Fareeha cocks her head. “I’m not judging. I already know how well you manage your sleep schedule. I do wish you’d take care of yourself as much as you take care of others. Besides,” she says, “I don’t mind a good drink myself.”

“... Yeah.” Angela murmurs.

“Well, maybe someday we can all drop by a bar together. Maybe get Lena, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn to join us.” McCree settles back, picks his hat back up, and puts it back on, angling it so its brim shades his face. “And whoever else is willing to come with, I guess. Hana ain’t old enough, is she?”

“It depends on the country, but generally yes, actually.” Angela frowns. “I am under the impression that she doesn’t touch the stuff and I would like it if it remained that way.”

“Mm, yeah, can’t really see her in a pub.” McCree brushes some hair out of his face and resettles. “Maybe that Hanzo fella? Doesn’t seem like a fun drinking buddy but he had strong opinions on the subject. Got to say, he’s got awful taste. Doesn’t like whiskey, if you can imagine it.”

Fareeha rolls her eyes. “I’m sure Genji would just love for half his friends to take his estranged brother out drinking.”

“Eh, he’d probably be happy that we’re getting along, actually. Dunno what Zenyatta said or did but he’s worked it out.”

“Zenyatta is just like that.” Fareeha says quietly.

“Hm.” McCree pulls his serape over his body and huddles down in his seat. “Wake me up if anything important happens. Or if we hit the dirt road.”

“Sure.” Fareeha settles back as well, but she stays alert, eyes now fixed on the unchanging landscape of dry dirt and yellow-brown grass.

An hour passes in silence. Fareeha’s thinking Angela’s dozed off at that point when her quiet voice suddenly cuts through the air. “It’s not a habit.”

“What?” Fareeha looks back at Angela.

“It’s not a habit. Like the sleeping.” Angela’s gaze flits to Fareeha, then out the window. “I wasn’t lying when I said I don’t do it often.” 

Fareeha eyes Angela curiously. “Like I said, I’m not judging you.”

“I want to be a better person.” She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around herself. A thick silence settles over the two.

Fareeha pulls off her jacket and tosses it into Angela’s lap. “The desert can get cold at night. Don’t catch anything.”

“Technically,” Angela mutters, “If I start exhibiting symptoms of anything because of the cold, I would have already caught it. It is detrimental to the immune system but doesn’t cause the presence of any pathogens in and of itself.”

“You know what I mean.” 

Angela pulls the jacket around her shoulders and smiles softly. “ _ Danke _ .”

“Get some rest.”

“I’m not tired.” Angela looks away as if the conversation is over. 

Fareeha makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “You just admitted that you have a problem with habitually staying up late.”

Angela looks back at Fareeha, almost thoughtfully. At last, she speaks. “Aren’t you also cold?”

“Don’t change the subject!” Fareeha hisses. She looks sideways at McCree to make sure he hasn’t woken up. “Go to sleep.”

Angela gives her a long look. She doesn’t say anything, but the meaning is clear enough.  _ “No.” _

“If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for us. Out of all of us, you’re the one that we absolutely  _ cannot  _ have going into this tired.” She jerks her head in McCree’s direction as she says this. “And no, I’m not cold. I have a high temperature tolerance, I guess.”

Angela eyes her. “... Alright.” Her tone is the tone of one who doesn’t quite believe what is being said but at the same time isn’t ready to argue about it. She curls up tighter, tucking the still-warm leather of the jacket under her nose, sighs deeply, and closes her eyes. “Good night.”

“Good night.” Fareeha sits and listens until Angela’s breathing slows. Satisfied, she turns back around and goes back to watching the stars and land streak by.

 

* * *

 

“Get up.” McCree wakes with a snort, looking around, startled. Fareeha elbows him in the ribs again, just for good measure. “We’ve reached dirt road.”

“Right, right.” McCree sits up, flicks the brim of his hat out of his face, and flicks a switch on the dashboard. He shakes himself and grips the wheel. He looks over his shoulder at Angela, still curled up against the door, draped in Fareeha’s jacket. He doesn’t comment on that last detail, instead merely turning to Fareeha and lowering his voice. “We still have another hour or so to go, if you want to take a nap. After that, I’m thinking we pull over and give you two a chance to uh, suit up or whatever it is.”

“They’re suits, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” Fareeha folds her arms and shoots McCree a sharp look. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs, a little unconvincingly. “I just don’t know if you wear something under that, or if you need to, you know…” He clears his throat. “Uh, have some privacy.” 

Fareeha prinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Undersuit, Jesse, it’s called an undersuit and it exists and there’s a reason it exists.” She allows her head to droop, chin dipping to her chest. “I’m going to sleep. Wake us up when we get there, or if anything happens along the way.”

“‘Course.” McCree tips his hat in acknowledgement.

“You know that’s not cool whatsoever, right?” Fareeha eyes him through half-closed lids.

“I know you’re wrong.” He replies, voice full of confidence.

“Ha.” Fareeha snorts. “Right.”

“You’re the one that thinks my belt buckle isn’t cool.”

“You’re proving my point.” Fareeha smiles. “Jesse, you are one of the most singularly lame people I have ever met in my entire life.” She turns away, leaning against the window as McCree makes various indignant sputtering sounds. “Keep your eyes on the road, cowboy.”

Fareeha falls into a light, dreamless sleep, a nap so short that it feels like she hasn’t slept at all. She wakes drowsily, but the sudden lack of the engine’s hum jerks her fully into wakefulness. She uncurls slightly, flexing her fingers to chase the stiffness out of her joints. In the back seat, she hears Angela stirring.

“Well, this is about as close as I’m willing to take a car.” McCree pops open the driver’s side door and steps out into the cold night air. He stretches, looks up at the moon, and scratches his beard. “Reckon we have another hour or two until sunrise. I’m gonna go check the place out; see if anything’s changed while I’ve been gone.”

“How long do we have until we need to go?” Angela looks up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Eh, maybe an hour or so?” McCree taps his chin. “With a bit of luck we’ll be dropping in on them right around dawn. The sun’ll be in their eyes; the entrance faces east.” With that, he shoves his thumbs into his belt and saunters off, whistling quietly.

Fareeha shakes her head and opens her door as well, stepping outside. She takes a moment to take a few deep breaths of fresh air, the coolness raising goosebumps on her skin. She stretches her arms up above her head, feeling her spine crack. For good measure, she leans from side to side, feeling the pull of her muscles with a certain, quiet satisfaction. Behind her, she hears a car door open and close with two quiet  _ thumps _ . She finishes stretching and turns around.

Angela stands in the night air near the back of the car. She sweeps the slightly too large jacket off of her shoulders, offering it to Fareeha with a mouthed  _ “Thank you” _ and a small smile. Fareeha takes the jacket wordlessly, but dips her head slightly in acknowledgement.

Angela sighs deeply and tugs out her hair tie with only a slight wince, letting her hair tumble over her shoulders, pale and shining in the moonlight. She combs her fingers through her hair, working through the worst tangles. As she pulls her hair back and goes to put it back up, Angela glances up and suddenly Fareeha realizes she’s staring. Fareeha quickly turns away and busies herself with folding the jacket and leaving it in her car seat. 

When she turns back, Angela is halfway through taking off her shirt.

Fareeha coughs to hide her quite “Oh!” of surprise. She mentally kicks herself.

Angela pulls her arms out of her sleeves and wraps up the shirt, revealing the black undersuit beneath. She gives Fareeha a curious look, eyebrows furrowing slightly in worry. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine.” Fareeha says, perhaps a little more sharply than she means to. “I’m fine.” She murmurs more softly. “Just… a bit of a dust in my throat, that’s all.”

“Alright.” Angela tosses her shirt onto the roof of the car and opens the trunk. She leans over it and reaches down. Fareeha hears two clicks and a sees a small spark of faint golden light before Angela pulls the Valkyrie suit out. Its white material almost glows in the night.

Angela works quickly, her fingers playing through a practiced routine. It takes the most time to piece together all the parts that actually go under the suit, the leggings, the base of the flight implement along the spine, the neck piece, the gloves, the complex system of control nodes and sensors working over and under it all. Compared to that, the actual suit that goes over it all is a simple task. Angela’s sitting on the edge of the trunk pulling on the boots when a shadow falls over her.

Fareeha stands in front of her, having discarded her own shirt for her own black undersuit. She rubs the back of her neck and looks off to the side. “I… need my Raptora.”

“Oh!” Angela looks over at the much larger case sitting next to her. “Sorry!” She laughs nervously and scoots over, allowing Fareeha to lean over and open it without catching her in the side. Her fingers still and she looks over as Fareeha pulls out the pieces of her own suit. “It’s amazing how they get all of that to fit into such a relatively small case.”

Fareeha, holding a part of her chest piece looks up. “The suits are pretty good, aren’t they?” She has to smother a proud smile as she gazes down at the piece.

“Mm. Yours is especially interesting too.” Angela points. “Helix prefers to make them brown, don’t they?”

Fareeha laughs and looks away, somewhat abashed. “They do. But they let me make some modifications.”

“I like it.” Angela smiles. “It reminds me of the old uniforms. Overwatch blue.”

“Y-yeah.” Fareeha feels the cold stark on her warm cheeks. “That was the inspiration.” The statement comes out quiet and rushed, like an afterthought that was never meant to be voiced. Maybe it wasn’t.

Angela presses a hand to her face, attempting to stifle the smile tugging at her lips. She finishes putting on the other boot and twists around, picking up the last bits of the suit. The golden half-circle and small black pieces that combined make up the last parts of the targeting and communications systems. Fareeha moves a little ways away, seeking space to put on her own suit.

Finally, Angela pulls a long bag from the depths of the trunk; something which might be mistaken for a flag bag. She unzips it with one smooth motion, pulls out the Caduceus Staff, and sits there for a moment, looking it up and down, checking for any damage it might have sustained during travel. Seemingly satisfied, she stands up, dusts herself off, and flicks it on, watching the top part open up and spin as it comes to life, tip glowing with warm, flowing light. The light turns to a crackling blue before Angela nods to herself and turns it off before looking over her shoulder, the Valkyrie’s wings flicking to life, opening and closing, angling this way and that, even lengthening before the blades of light retract.

“It looks like you’re ready.” Fareeha reappears from around the car, helmet tucked under her arm. She nods at the staff in Angela’s hands.

“Just about.” Angela looks at Fareeha and cocks her head this way and that like some sort of owl trying to pinpoint a noise. “Are you?”

“I should be.” Fareeha looks down at her helmet and rubs her thumb over the curve of the visor. She puts it on, blinking as it comes to life. A long list of text and green lights scroll by in the corner of her vision. “All systems online and green.”

Fareeha hears a laugh almost in her ear. She stiffens and pulls her focus away from the visor’s display to what’s actually in front of her. Angela has to stand up on her toes to reach, but she reaches up to lightly touch Fareeha’s visor, brushing a thumb over its curve just like she did. “It feels like good fortune.” She murmurs. Then she smiles bright and wide. “Blue really is a lovely color on you.”

Fareeha looks down at her, visor dipping. “Thank you.” She clears her throat and steps away. “Clear skies. The good weather should hold for a while yet; we shouldn’t have to worry about it. If we’re fighting inside a cave though, especially a stone one with no or little reinforcements, we have bigger things to worry about. We don’t want to cause any collapses.”

Angela nods. “Of course. I’ll hold off on the blue. We should fly low and try to be more of a distraction, I think. McCree would be much more effective in this situation. We need to give him some space to work.” Angela looks up and her eyes grow dark. “Speak of the devil.”

Fareeha turns around to see a little pinprick of orange light and thin, pale curls of smoke bobbing in the distance. She smirks, noting Angela giving the light her best dirty look. “You can’t be surprised.”

“I’m not. I’m disappointed.” Angela’s upper lip curls in disgust. She crosses her arms and stands watching him approach.

McCree comes back using the same saunter that he left with. He doesn’t whistle, and the cigar has clearly been lit for some time; it’s short and ashy. His spurs are the only sound in the air, jingling a barely audible rhythm as he draws close. McCree taps the ash off his cigar on the hood of the car, simultaneously breathing out a cloud of smoke. “So,” He begins quietly, before pausing to clear his throat, earning him another sharp glare from Angela. “The place is quiet. A little too quiet. The amount of lookouts has doubled. We’d best step carefully.”

“I think we can do that.” Fareeha looks over at Angela. “I can’t promise we’ll  _ fly  _ quietly though.” 

McCree shrugs. He seems to accept that readily. “Let’s head out.”

“Aren’t you forgetting about something?” Angela asks flatly. She reaches out and grabs the edge of his serape, stopping him in his tracks.

“Oh, uh.” McCree pulls the cigar from his mouth and looks down at it. “This is the last one, I promise doc.”

Angela presses her lips together and her fist momentarily tightens, but she relents. “I can’t say I believe you, but we can have a little talk later.” She releases him and watches as he opens the car door, pulls an ashtray out of the armrest compartment, and stubs the cigar out.

“Can we go?” McCree readjusts his hat and without waiting for a reply, begins to stride off along the road.

Fareeha watches the exchange with amusement. She leans towards Angela as they both move to follow McCree. “Are you nervous?”

“What?” Angela jumps. “No, why would you think that?”

“You tend to fuss over others when you’re nervous.”

“I don’t—I fuss?” Angela looks down at her hands, wide-eyed. “Do I really..?”

“Mmhm.”

Angela slowly lowers her hands, shoulders slumping slightly. “It’s my job to worry about other people. About  _ you _ .”

Fareeha looks over, her light smile melting away. “I know.” She reaches out and lightly touches Angela’s hand. “Thank you. For that.”

“And thank you for your part in it. For letting me fly.” Angela laughs, takes a deep breath, and looks up at the stars, walking for a few seconds in silence before returning her gaze to the horizon. “We’ve all got work to do, don’t we? But for now, let’s try to enjoy the moment.”

“I can do that.” Fareeha murmurs.

 

* * *

 

“What the hell is that sound?” The young, scrawny man looks around, squinting into the rising sun. The road seems empty. Something moves, and he spins, raising his gun. A coyote hurries off, disappearing into the dead grass. The sound fades.

“Damn sun.” A larger, stockier figure grumbles. 

“Don’t see why they had to make this place face directly east—”

“Shut up.” Another voice, this one slightly inside the mine’s entrance. The others fall silent, just in time to catch the sound of the rush and whistle of wind.

“Above us!” The first one looks up, blinking the blinding glare out of his eyes. Suddenly, it’s all obscured by shadow.

Fareeha is spot on; she almost lands directly on top of one of the lookouts. Instead, she manages to adjust her trajectory so that she ends up kicking the poor man in the chest, knocking him into his partner standing right next to him. Angela manages to adjust herself so that she comes in at more of an angle, using her momentum and staff to sweep the feet out from under a third sentry.

The fourth, the one positioned just inside the cave entrance, turns and bolts. A shadow darts after him. Fareeha hears the sound of a brief scuffle before McCree emerges from the darkness, carrying the now unconscious man over his shoulder. The rest of them, now staring down the barrel of Fareeha’s rocket launcher, choose to keep silent and sit still. McCree dumps the body near them, straighten up, and dusts off his hands.

“Well,” He says, “Not bad, I’d say.”

The scrawny man, the one that Angela had tripped, stares up at him, eyes wide. “You’re—you’re—” His gaze flicks over to Peacekeeper still in its holster. He shuts his mouth.

McCree looks at the group thoughtfully. “Can’t exactly just let you run off, can we?” He draws his gun and steps up. Fareeha lowers her rocket launcher and backs off a little. “Alright, throw your weapons down.” He gestures at the ground with the gun as he talks. “And… Aw hell why not… phones, radios, anything else that you can go chatting on. Phar, do you mind..?”

In response Fareeha crouches by the unconscious man. She’s quick to find one handgun, a pocket knife, a bit of ammunition, and a beat-up, ancient looking handheld radio. The rest of the search yields nothing but some spare change, a chipped lighter, and a half-empty pack of cigarettes.

McCree surveys the small pile of janky guns and knives. “They really gave you one radio to share between all of you, didn’t they?”

“Not like there’s reception out here.” One of the guard’s mutters sullenly.

“Fair enough.” McCree reaches under his serape and produces a length of rope. Angela stares.

“Why did you have a coil of rope wrapped around your neck?” Her tone is pained in an  _ I-shouldn’t-have-to-ask-this _ sort of way.

“It got in the way if I carried it anywhere else, and I figured we’d need it.” McCree shrugs nonchalantly. Fareeha just shakes her head.

“Aaand let’s just put you guys in the shade here, whup, watch the fingers,” he says, pointing his gun at the now awake fourth sentinel. “Normally I’d tell you to be quiet, but…” He looks off down the tunnel. “I figure it won’t matter now.”

Fareeha also looks down a tunnel. She takes a few steps, moving fully into the darkness where the dirt floor begins to slant down and give way to stone. Angela follows, her staff lighting the way, casting tall, dark shadows over the walls.

The air quickly becomes stale and still. Fareeha notices a grimy old lantern hanging from a splintered wooden beam set lengthwise across the ceiling, casting light over a wooden frame, past which the tunnel turns sharply. She stops and gestures behind her, and Angela quickly shuts her staff down. The lantern flickers, its fluorescent electrical light turned mottled by the dirt coating the outside of it. Angela notices a few dusty cobwebs hanging off of it.

Fareeha pokes her head around the corner. After giving her eyes a moment to adjust, she surveys the cavern she finds before her. One lonely light dangling from the ceiling weakly illuminates the space. It’s larger than she thought it would be. Several stacks of wooden crates and canvas sacks had been scattered around the cavern, clustering slightly more around the back. Sawdust and straw have been scattered across the floor. No movement catches her eye. 

McCree steps up to her side, and taps her arm lightly. He cocks his head and pads along the walls, creeping into the darkness. Fareeha notes that his spurs don’t jingle anymore. She can’t even hear his footsteps on the stone floor. He pauses in the shadow of a large rusty trailer, and indicates across the room in the opposite direction. Fareeha nods and steps around, hugging the wall. The room is silent.

After several minutes, McCree looks over and makes eye contact with Angela. He mouths something to her, then steps directly into the light. As soon as the light hits his arm, there’s a small gasp. It doesn’t come from either Fareeha or Angela. Every head in the room immediately swivels around.

Fareeha is the first to move. She’s surprisingly spry for a woman in a battle suit. She spins on her heel and half jumps, half dives over a nearby pile of sacks like a fox after a hare. Canvas and sawdust fly through the air, followed by a squeaky yelp. Angela peers over the top of the stacks to find Fareeha on the other side, standing over a scrawny man currently in the process of doubling over and gasping for breath. Fareeha’s hand, clenched into a fist, relaxes and returns to her rocket launcher. She steps aside as the man falls over, regaining his breathing in a series of rattling coughs.

He looks up, eyes wildly shifting around. Finally, he seems to settle on staring at the weapon in Fareeha’s hands. “You wouldn’t.” He spits into the dust. “That thing’ll bring this place down on all of us.”

Fareeha looks down at him. The visor hides her eyes. Suddenly, she calls over her shoulder. “Mercy.”

Angela jumps slightly at the sound of her name. “Yes?” The smile that had appeared on the man’s face disappears just as quickly as it came.

“You carry a gun, right?”

“I do.” Angela says. One hand drifts to her waist, where the blaster is holstered. 

Fareeha holds her hand out. “Could I borrow it?” She doesn’t take her eyes off of the Deadlock member she’s concerned. 

Angela stares at the scene before her, face grim. When she moves, she does so somewhat reluctantly. Wordlessly, Angela pulls out her gun and places it in Fareeha’s hand. Fareeha spins it around, lays her finger on the trigger, and lowers her rocket launcher. At the same time she raises the gun and points it at the man’s head. He starts visibly sweating.

The minutes creep by painfully slowly. No one says a word, though Angela ends up turning around to keep an eye on the rest of the room. She turns and watches as McCree appears from the depths of it, wearing a clearly disgruntled expression. She tilts her head slightly towards Fareeha and he nods, hopping over the sandbags in one fluid motion and landing with a click on the other side.

“There’s no one else here.” He growls. He turns his eyes to the man on the floor, and snorts in disgust. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket. The man flinches, but then McCree simply produces a cigar from another pocket, lights it, and puts it to his lips. “Alright,” he says, after taking a deep draw and breathing out a cloud of smoke. The lit cigar lights his face with a slightly ominous glow. He crouches down. “You know who I am.”

“I know they’ve still got a picture of your face on the diner’s dartboard. And the one that kills you gets a nice chunk of cash.”

“Huh, nice to know they still remember me.” McCree grins. “They tell you about what I do?”

“Shoot folks, like the rest of us out here.”

“Eh, gotta say I’m a little better than most folks around here.” The word hangs unspoken between them.  _ Deadeye.  _ McCree breathes out another cloud of smoke. “So, mind telling me where the two in the black went off to? And what they were here for?” The light reflects red in his eyes.

The man stares up at him and sets his jaw, apparently resolute. McCree rolls his eyes. “Your funeral.” He flicks Peacekeeper up. Angela’s eyes widen and she moves forward, but she’s too far away.

“Wait!” The man throws up his hands and cringes. He lowers them slowly, seemingly surprised that he’s not dead. “Don’t kill me. There was, there was this lady, see, she just showed up one day and told us to get out, told us to expect some trouble, see.” He stops to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. “None of us had seen her before and we all thought she was pulling our legs or something, but the boss had a talk with those Talon folks and they decided that they wanted to get the hell out of here. Left me and the rest of them to keep and eye on the place.”

“Huh.” McCree scratches his beard. “Sounds more like they just left you to die.” Still, he ponders the words. “Hold on.” He gets up and hops back over the pile of sandbags. A few minutes later, the screech of metal rips through the cavern, followed by the sound of splintering wood. The man pales.

McCree comes back holding an entire side of a crate with the nails still in it. He tosses it aside. “They left half the goods.” He says flatly. He hops back over the sandbags and nudges the man with the tip of his boot. “Mind telling me where your boss went?”

“I don’t know, really, I don’t know!” Under the combined glares of both Fareeha and McCree, he relents even further. “Somewhere further west, closer to the Gorge. They mentioned something about a river.”

McCree stares down at the man, and sighs. He taps the ash off the end of his cigar. “Sounds like we’re going on a road trip.” He nods at Fareeha and Angela. “You two go on ahead, I want to give this place a little more thorough of a search.”

“And leave you with him?” Fareeha asks. “I don’t suppose you have any more rope.”

“Nah.” McCree shrugs. He reaches around and rips open a sandbag, then begins to tear the cloth into strips, tying them together into a rudimentary rope. “I reckon this’ll do just fine though. In the meantime, he probably knows I’ll shoot him where he stands if he tries anything funny.”

Fareeha looks at him for a few moments longer. “Alright.” She backs off. Angela looks from her to McCree, but follows as Fareeha turns and begins to walk away.

Neither of them say anything until they’re well out of earshot of the lookouts. Fareeha flips the gun in her right hand around and offers it back to Angela. “Thanks.”

“You know it wouldn’t have killed him anyways, right?” Angela accepts the blaster and returns it to its holster.

Fareeha shrugs. “He didn’t know that.”

“I suppose.” Angela looks as if she would very much like pockets to shove her hands morosely into. It’s quite the contrast with the eggshell blue sky of the early morning. “So, we’re going to be out here for a little longer than we bargained for.”

“Maybe.” Fareeha lifts her head, enjoying the light breeze. “I’m not worried about it.”

“No?” Angela turns and gives her a curious look.

“No.” For some odd reason, Fareeha smiles. “For now, I think I’ll just… enjoy the moment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Danke" means "Thank you" in German
> 
> Ahhh, I missed International Lesbian Day by one day... Well, I hope you're all doing well! Good luck with the event, my friends! I might go quiet here for a bit. I am VERY excited about Halloween...


	28. The Long Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time is burned. McCree is third-wheeling but he's quite possibly the only one that realizes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit late on this, so sorry! Ashe, and the bit of Deadlock lore released with her sort of threw a wrench into my plans, so I've had to do some re-writing in a hurry...

_“This plan sucks, no offense.”_

_“Offense taken.” The voice growled._

_“Sounds like a you problem. Anyways, can’t we just, you know, get a boat or something? Get into international waters and all that.”_

_“No.”_

_“...”_

_“You plan on telling me why?”_

_“You know why.”_

_“I didn’t know you were that petty.” Teeth flashed, grinning in the darkness. “Is that how you survived—” Luminous eyes dart to the side. “Whatever. I have to run.”_

_A shock of purple and pink._

 

* * *

 

Here’s the thing about America, particularly the American midwest: it’s big, and by and large boring. Dirt, rock, and brown, yellowed grass and shrubs as far as the eye can see, broken only by the sun-bleached pavement and tar of the road, its painted lines nearly scrubbed clean, lined only occasionally by crooked metal posts and rusty wire. There was little to do but watch the clouds go by, or so Angela thought. The weather had been good for the past few days. There had been precious few clouds to watch.

“Are you alright?” Angela jerks out of her reverie with a start. She looks over her shoulder. Fareeha tilts the brim of her cap up so that she can better scrutinize Angela’s face. “You seem a little bit… out of it.”

“I’m fine.” Angela smiles softly and turns back to the window. “Just…” She clears her throat, suddenly abashed. “...Bored.”

“Mm.” Fareeha studies her for a while longer, and shifts her hat back so that it casts its shadow back over her eyes. “We can ask McCree if we can stop sometime, when he wakes up.”

Angela shifts her gaze over to McCree’s fluffy, tousled brown head of hair. “He’s a bit of an old dog isn’t he?”

Fareeha huffs in amusement. “Old? Isn’t he the same age as you?”

“I meant that in the sense that he spends all day sleeping.”

“And spends all night very much alert.” Fareeha turns to McCree as well. “Much more of a cat, don’t you think?”

“Hm.” Angela considers this. “I suppose you’re right.” She shakes her head. “Reyes always called him a mutt, or a stray, among other things.”

“Ingrate.” Fareeha smiles.

Angela raises an eyebrow. “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

At Angela’s curious look, Fareeha relents and elaborates. “My mother must have picked it up from him.”

“Or the other way around.” Angela laughs. “Perhaps I picked all of that up from the both of them. Goodness knows he was one of the ones that made my job difficult.”

“Oh?” Fareeha cocks her head. “You weren’t really involved in Blackwatch, right?” There’s a flicker of confusion, and a sudden pulling back, even a grain of fear. _No more secrets._

Angela shakes her head, and the tension dissipates from Fareeha as quickly as it came. “No, but O’Deorain never had the patience to deal with the consequences of his… less well thought-out choices. He never trusted her to _not_ do something unsavory to him either. No time or room for that in the field of course, but he told me once that he would never step into her lab if his life depended on it.” Angela lets out a long suffering sigh. “Personally, well, I’d call it a smart choice—Blackwatch was so unregulated that they—that _she_ could have gotten away with almost anything, but, of course, it meant I had to do some more work. And they were always coming in or leaving at odd hours of the night as well. They—he and Genji that is; Genji tolerated it much more but he didn’t like Moira either—didn’t begrudge me the occasional ‘bastard’ or ‘you look like a stray dog that’s been sitting at the side of the road for three days straight’.”

“And what does that look like?”

“Dirty.”

The smile returns to Fareeha’s face but her eyes are solemn. “They seemed like good people.” Angela turns fully around, and searches her eyes. She knows that when Fareeha says “they”, she means more than just McCree and Genji.

“Some.” Angela says. “Reyes was a good man, and a shrewd one. He didn’t give the worst ones too much leverage. But he was also a practical one, and here is where we disagreed. He was an ‘ends justify the means’ sort of man, and so many people were given far too much flexibility to work. They were not all good people. Maybe not even mostly good people.” Angela looks away, to anywhere but Fareeha, away from the disappointment that she feared she would find there. On the dashboard, the car traces their route in a line of blue light.

The sky is clear, but the air is overcast.

“There were good people where it mattered.” Angela adds, hesitantly. “Most of the best agents, and the leadership that guided them.”

“Don’t.” Fareeha says softly. “Don’t try to… equivocate on what’s important to you for my sake. You’re probably right.”

Angela expels a small breath and pulls her knees up to her chest. She keeps her eyes averted. “ _You’re_ important to me,” she murmurs, her voice so quiet that it’s barely audible over the hum of the car.

“Not more than the ideals and truths that you believe in.” Fareeha says, sharply. “And please believe me, I would never knowingly ask you to do that.”

Angela’s words are halting; she hesitates, clearly turning her words over in her head, pondering their shape and sound before she says them. “I didn’t take back anything that I said before. Just that it wasn’t all bad.” She scowls. It came out a little bit more defensive than she had intended.

“I know.” Fareeha draws back, suddenly a little bit embarrassed. She clears her throat and ducks her head.

Angela smiles again, despite herself. She turns her eyes back to the sky. Fareeha idly notices that it almost matches her eyes today. There is a long pause in the conversation. Just the sun, the sky, the earth, and the car, carrying its cargo of three, rushing towards the horizon.

“But we agree that Jesse here’s more of a cat?” Fareeha’s thoughtful voice cuts through the air.

Angela jumps, looks around, and begins to laugh quietly. McCree, ever the timely one, snores at that moment. Angela’s laughter intensifies. “Yes,” she manages in between breaths, “I think so.”

“Hana’s going to tease us relentlessly over this if she ever finds out.”

“Us? I think she might tease him more.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Fareeha mutters.

 

* * *

 

The sun creeps across the sky, and then down, the blue of the sky darkening to a deep velvet black. A glimmering trail of light marking one of the country’s famous trains appears on the horizon, runs along the road for some time, and then disappears again. Both Fareeha and Angela watch this, spending the day dozing on and off, and letting their own thoughts wander in the silence.

McCree wakes up as the sun begins to set, leisurely, methodically stretching first his arms, then legs, shoulders, and back. Finally, he tilts his head first to one side, then the other, picks his hat off of his face, combs his metal fingers through his hair, and puts his hat back on. He turns around to meet the mildly amused eyes of both Fareeha and Angela. “What’re you two looking at?”

“You look like… what was it that you said, Angela? A stray dog that’s been in the road for three days?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, don’t pretend like either of you are in perfect condition when you wake up,” McCree growls. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes, then turns to check the car’s dashboard. “Good ground,” he grunts.

Fareeha shrugs vaguely. “Are you surprised?”

“Nah. Unless someone came along to both us. Not many people out on roads like this anymore, not with the trains and all. Mostly just old people, a few tourists, and the troublemakers. Like us.” McCree squints at the map. “Which is why I’m thinking we make a stop soon. Stretch our legs, get some more food, and have a little chat. See what’s been going on around here. Or who, rather.”

“Could you elaborate?” Angela asks.

“There are old stores scattered around here and there. Gas stations and the like; don’t get a lot of business nowadays of course, so they rely a lot on, well, old people, tourists, and troublemakers. Good folks to talk to if you want to know who’s been coming and going. Keep those eyes sharp Fareeha, you practically reek of law enforcement, and some folks are skittish if you catch my meaning.” Fareeha inclines her head in acknowledgement. McCree looks over at Angela. “You, uh… let’s hope that no one recognizes you from any old Overwatch posters or anything. Can’t imagine anyone out here’s all that interested in medical news or anything like that though, so otherwise we’re good.”

“And if not?” Fareeha crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine certain ‘troublemakers’ would react well to having a known Overwatch member poking around.”

At the same time, Angela pipes up. “McCree, don’t they know your face?”

“Eh, they all know I’m around already. Pretty sure Ashe’s about ready to have me drawn and quartered at this point anyways, so she can and has been doing her worst for a while now. I know how to stay out of trouble when I want to.” McCree pats the Peacekeeper fondly. “This here’s the backup plan if need be.”

“Alright.” Neither Fareeha not Angela seemed to be pleased with that, but they both begrudgingly accepted it as the best course of action.

 

* * *

 

It was a little, dingy thing. A gas station and convenience store, with a beat up neon sign out front and a struggling fluorescent light attracting moths over the door. There were some racks of magazines near the door, one of which the clerk, visible through the large windows, seems to be reading. It seemed that this was a place that stayed in business only by virtue of being at the intersection of two highways.

McCree parks the car, turns it off, and sits there for a few minutes. “Well!” He says suddenly, and hops out of the car. Both Angela and Fareeha follow, though in a somewhat more reserved manner.

Angela lingers by car, listening to the tick of its old parts cool and watching her breath plume in the air. Fareeha moves to follow McCree to the store’s door, but pauses and looks back. Angela hurries to catch up.

The little silver bell over the door chimes as Fareeha pushes it open. She holds it open; Angela mouths a quick _“thanks”_ as she hurries through. McCree had already struck up a conversation with the clerk, a stocky, tanned man with a bushy beard and handlebar mustache. He looks up as the two enter, but hurriedly turns back when McCree coughs and taps a metal finger on the countertop.

“If we let him choose what to buy we’ll be stuck with nothing but whiskey and crackers for a week.” Angela steps further into the store, casting a critical eye over the aisles.

“Go ahead.” Fareeha folds her arms across her chest and leans against the door. “I think I’ll just stay here for now.” She gives McCree (and the clerk) a pointed look.

“I don’t know what you’re—I don’t know who…” Fareeha catches a few snippets of conversation from her post by the door. She cocks her head and listens harder. “It’s not like… no trouble…”

“No trouble.” McCree this time, louder and more even than the clerk. He lowers his voice again, and Fareeha can’t make any more out until the end. “Really? They don’t like operating in… you sound like you’re pullin’ my leg, partner…” Fareeha can see beads of sweat on the clerk’s brow. He gives her a nervous glance. Fareeha returns it with a dirty look. He jumps and hurriedly turns back to McCree, and they exchange a few more hurried whispers.

Finally, McCree shrugs, grins, and straightens up. He rummages around in his pockets, puts a few coins and crumpled bills on the counter, pats the clerk on the back, and then looks over at Fareeha and jerks his head towards the door. She makes eye contact with Angela, nods, then turns and steps back into the night air.

Fareeha leans against the wall outside, eyeing the (almost) empty parking lot. When McCree opens the door, she shifts her eyes to the sky, taking a moment to admire the stars and the scope of the air. McCree joins her, lights a cigar, and for a few minutes he is only an orange mote of light and the pungent smell of smoke.

“So, that was a little interesting.” He pauses to take a long drag of the cigar. “I’m told they’re holed up in a town further west. It’s in the mountains, and pretty new to boot—it was established after the Crisis.”

Fareeha waits. “And?”

“And it’s a weird place for them to be.” McCree taps some ash off of his cigar, considers it, then returns it to his lips. He looks over his shoulder, checking on the brightly lit interior of the store. “A little closer to good old Route 66, and that much closer to the Gorge, sure, but the gang never much liked operating too close to proper civilization for too long. Sure the town’s post-Crisis, and those kinds of places tend to be a bit unstable, but I’ve heard of it before. Always seemed like a decent place. Not really Deadlock turf material.”

“Yet you seem to believe that they’re there.”

McCree grunts in affirmation. He takes a few more minutes, blowing plumes of smoke into the air. “The keyword is ‘mountain’. Suppose it’s a little easier to hide out there; just disappear into the woods and the like. Crisis drove everyone out back then, and the whole thing with the Bastion, well, people are apparently a little wary of the wilderness right now. Good spot and time to take advantage of, temporarily at least. Knowing Deadlock and knowing Talon, this whole thing isn’t meant to be long-standings anyways.”

“You think this is all just one deal?”

“Probably.” McCree shrugs. “Talon ideals don’t really resonate with a lot of folks. Not enough to get them to commit to very much anyways. Money’s what driving this.”

“Hmm.” Fareeha murmurs. “Should be easy then.”

“Yeah. By the way, were you two talking about me earlier in the day? Thought I heard my name.”

“And here I was thinking you were actually asleep for once.” Fareeha grumbles. “We were debating whether or not you were…” She coughs, suddenly aware of how that would sound. “I was arguing that you’re smarter than most people think.”

“Huh.” McCree pulls his cloak tighter around himself. “Well, thanks.”

“Sure.”

“You sure you weren’t talking about… I mean I heard the word ‘cat’, I think.”

“Small talk.”

“Figured you were both bird people, but alright.”

Fareeha sighs, after a heavy silence. “We’re probably going to have to kill people.”

“... Yeah.” The grin on McCree’s face falters.

“You won’t be able to get away with it like last time.”

“I know.” McCree looks over his shoulder. “So does she.” He puts his hands in his pockets and ambles away, whistling. The chime of the bell heralds Angela’s arrival.

Fareeha looks down at Angela and inclines her head. “What did you get?”

Angela looks at the items in her arms and shrugs. “Water, snacks, you know.”

Fareeha leans over and inspects the small pile. “And a comic book?”

“Oh, well.” Angela coughs, suddenly very interested in the stars. “If we need to pass the time.”

“I’m sure Winston is absolutely delighted that we’re making such good use of his very expensive global cell coverage.” Fareeha smirks, but settles back down, following Angela’s eyes to the stars.

“It’s a nice night.” Angela says.

“Clear skies.” The stars twinkle above. Fareeha traces the brightest ones with her eyes. “Good omen.”

“So it is.” Angela hesitates, then leans into Fareeha, sighing. “So it is.”

“You two done flirting?” McCree, standing in the parking lot, flashes a grin.

“Jesse!” Fareeha fixes him with a glare, suddenly fighting back a flush in her face. “Shut your—”

“No time to waste!” He crosses the last few feet to the car, opens the door, and moves to get inside.

“Don’t you _dare_ smoke in the car!” Angela lunges forward.

“Don’t worry, I’ll roll down the window.”

“That’s not how it works! Are you— Don’t you _dare_ make finger guns at me!” Angela pulls out her phone. “Keep that up and you’re going back to paying for your healthcare.”

“Going back?” McCree laughs. “Never paid for it in the first place.”

Angela looks like she is seriously considering throwing her phone. She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, Fareeha puts a hand on her shoulder, having caught up to her. “You’re a dumbass Jesse!” She calls.

“Yep.” McCree chuckles. “Always have been. Get in the car, the world ain’t going to wait for you.”

Angela sighs, and moves over to the car. Fareeha trails behind. She circles around to the other side of the car, stops, and gives the clerk, who had been watching from inside the store, a hard look. He hurriedly looks elsewhere.

Fareeha gets in the car, folds her arms across her chest, and closes her eyes. “Drive on then, cowboy.”

“Or rather, let the computer drive.” McCree snorts. He pauses to punch in an address into the car’s map, guides the car onto the road, and sits back with a satisfied sigh.

“So, what’s the rush?” Angela asks, eyes trying to discern the next destination.

“The rush is that bomb that got stolen off the train a while back.” McCree’s teeth clench slightly. “I’d have stepped in earlier if I knew they were dealing with _Talon_ , but, well.” He shakes his head. “Deadlock’s a menace, but not like Talon. You know those sentry guns you found out in SIberia?”

“I thought we established that Deadlock doesn’t move things far,” Fareeha says, without opening her eyes.

“They don’t, but Talon sure does. I’m not saying those, specifically, came from here, but if Talon’s been moving weapons like that around… And you know how the States are about their weapons.” McCree twirls a finger around his ear. “After this I’ll have to go check into some of the _other_ organizations. Los Muertos down south, the fragments of the Shimadas across the ocean, maybe even pop by Italy again. Sniff around France, even.”

“France?” Angela asks curiously.

“Lena said she was French.” McCree doesn’t elaborate on who “she” is, but Angela can guess. “Anyways, it’s a little too late to nip this in the bud but if we can stop it from going any further, it’ll save us a lot of trouble down the line. You don’t steal or buy a bomb without intending to use it.”

“So we know what we have to do.” Fareeha cracks an eye open and peers at Angela’s lap. “Are you going to read that?”

“Now? Well, yes, but if you wanted to—”

“I can read over your shoulder, if you sort of turn around like… that works.”

“Are you sure? The angle on this side seems like it’d be odd. Can I… maybe…”

McCree looks over his shoulder. “You two want to get a room?”

“It’s a _car_ , Jesse, and I’m not sure I’m getting what you’re implying.” Fareeha scowls at him.

“Alright.” He shrugs. “But if you’re going to tell me you’re ‘just friends’ when one of you is sitting in the other’s lap—”

“Shut up. We’re trying to read.” Fareeha puts her chin on top of Angela’s head. She seems tense. The light on the inside of the car is a touch dim, but bright enough to read by.

“Oh, those are interesting,” Angela says after a few minutes of silence. She nods at one of the pages. “The designs, I mean.”

“Yeah. I think my favorite’s that one.” Fareeha points at one panel.

Angela laughs, and Fareeha can feel the vibrations in her chest. “You like mechs, don’t you? Ever thought of going into aerospace engineering?”

“I did, actually, but it involves far too much math and sitting around for my tastes.” Fareeha smiles. “It doesn’t stop me from occasionally interrogating the actual engineers though. I suspect they let me change the suit to get me to stop bothering them for a bit.”

“Oh, and not because of your decorated career?”

“Don’t encourage her,” McCree mutters.

“Can it Jesse. Just because you’ve got good aim and a thick skull—” Fareeha begins, but she is interrupted by McCree’s protests.

“Just? _Just?_ Don’t talk down to me; this here’s the best deadeye in the west.”

“I could kick your ass.”

“You could certainly try.”

“To be fair, he does have a metal arm,” Angela interjects, quietly. “Surprisingly well calibrated too.”

“Ha!” McCree sits back. “You’ve been betrayed.”

“Angela!” Fareeha gives Angela a mock wounded look.

“Fine.” Angela shrugs.

“Hey wait a minute you can’t take back—” McCree begins.

“—You’re _both_ vain.” Angela cuts him off.

“I’m not vain, just rightfully proud,” Fareeha says, with perfect dignity. She pauses with a note of finality. Then: “Let’s get back to the space robots.”

“Ah, there goes the moment.” Angela snickers, but obligingly settles back down and fully opens the book again.

A silence settles once more. Outside, the stars and cold stone sweep by, watched over by the sliver of a moon. Bright yellow headlights cut through the darkness, and dust swirls in the red wake. A silence, yes, but a comfortable one. Angela leans back into Fareeha’s chest, her eyes roaming the pages, her mind half marveling at how she can feel her breathing. Fareeha too thinks about the stars, the book, the stars in the book, and idly wonders at the pleasant warmth and weight of Angela against her chest, so different from the cold air.

Fareeha and Angela read, and McCree hums to himself and counts the cacti at the side of the road. The darkness is ever deep and smooth, as autumn creeps through the land. At some point, Angela mentions that she bought chocolate. They share it, and it’s good; a little sugary, and at first a little cold and chunky but it melts smooth and dark and warm. Fareeha and Angela continue reading. McCree continues counting. The moon hangs still above

Here’s the thing about America, particularly the American midwest: it’s big, and by and large boring. But the sky is vast and endless, and the land clothes itself in many robes. It can be breathtaking, so empty that it’s full, and time is slow and clear, and the night lasts forever. In good company it can be pleasant, the coldness tuning the warmth, and in great company, it can even be lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I live in the Midwest? :') Gotta say, it really is almost always pretty mediocre, but the desert at night certainly has its redeeming qualities.


	29. Dreamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foolishness and philosophy with an unexpected interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always a little bit unsure about if I should write accents, and then how heavy-handed it should be. I do hope this particular character voice still comes through like her!

_ The sky swirled, blue painted with stripes of orange and white. Clouds and space and the setting sun. Chalk-white cliffs. Orange-gold grass, glistening in the light. Dark blue shadows. The waves painted their colors on the shore. Blue. Orange. White. White. Orange. Blue. _

_ There was a grave. There was a grave and there was a flower and the grave had a name and the name was the moon. _

_ Fareeha stared down at it, suddenly shivering, lucid, so lucid that it felt like the world was turning to paper, translucent, thin, peeling. _

_ The stone cracked. _

 

* * *

 

Fareeha wakes to find Angela leaning against her, back-to-back. Her breathing is soft in the fuzzy grey half-darkness. Fareeha has only a few moments to appreciate it before the migraine hits. 

She presses her lips together to cut off her hiss of pain, but it’s too late. Angela stirs, lifts her head, and turns, peering at Fareeha with wide, worried blue eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Just a headache.” Fareeha shakes her head and winces.

“Hmm.” Angela looks her up and down thoughtfully. “I have some painkillers, if you’d like. I’d recommend a bit of coffee as well, but…” She looks around ruefully.

“I’m fine. Don’t trouble yourself.”

Angela snorts. “It’s not even that much trouble,” she says as she pulls a bag out from under her seat. “Honestly.” She shoves a tablet and a bottle of water into Fareeha’s hands.

Fareeha reluctantly accepts the items under Angela’s watchful eye. “Thanks,” she mutters sheepishly. She takes the tablet, pauses, then finishes the bottle and sits back with a sigh.

Angela, seemingly satisfied, goes right back to leaning up against Fareeha, this time against her chest. Fareeha half sits up with a surprised chirp. “You’re…” She searches for the right word. “...close… today.”

Angela shrugs. “You were shivering. But if you want me to move—”

“No,” Fareeha blurts out, a little hastier than she had intended, “It’s fine!” She carefully, almost nervously puts her chin on top of Angela’s head. Then, after a moment, she sighs, the tension leaving her body. “Thank you. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.” Angela sighs. “I suppose we’re both up now; do you want to… er… write a report? I would think Winston’s getting anxious.”

Fareeha snorts. “What are we going to write? ‘Hey Winston, nothing’s happened. Actually, we bought some chocolate. It was mediocre.’”

“Actually, we’re just about where we need to be.” McCree’s voice cuts across both their thoughts. He points ahead at the mountains now on the horizon.

“Have you been awake the entire time?” Fareeha squints at him.

“Eh, didn’t want to ruin the mood.” He shrugs and wraps himself more tightly against the morning chill. “Bad timing though. Not sure if we can get much done in the daylight. Not in the beginning at least.”

“You have bad timing on a lot of things, Jesse.”

“You know, I get that a lot, but I find myself at the right place at the right time very often.” McCree shrugs again. “But you only have to deal with this for so long. I’m thinking I should go do some more scouting soon. Y’all can uh…” He scratches his head. “Find a place to crash for a few nights or something.”

“Hold on—” Angela begins, but McCree cuts her off.

“Don’t worry. Just drop me somewhere quiet and I’ll figure it out from there. Text me or something if you need me.”

Angela frowns. “Before, when our communications were breached, it was a disaster. Are you sure you want to rely on that?”

“No one got seriously hurt, and Winston got his info, didn’t he?”

“He’s also assured me that intense work has been done to strengthen the entire system.” Fareeha gives Angela a reassuring squeeze. “If we can’t trust the communications, then what’s the point of having them?”

“Hm.” Angela doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she drops it. “Who’s driving?”

“What?” McCree looks up.

“If you’re not looking for a specific place, the car’s going to need steering.”

“Oh, right.” McCree looks at the empty driver’s seat. “Uh…”

Angela rolls her eyes. “I’ll do it.” It’s an awkward climb into the front seat, but she makes it eventually. Thankfully, there are no other people around to even try to glance through the car’s windows. Less thankfully, she takes her warmth with her, leaving only cold space at Fareeha’s side.

 

* * *

 

“This is good.” McCree nods out the window. Angela stops the car and watches him hop out. He looks towards the mouth of the alley. “Haven’t caught anyone’s attention. Good.” He nods. “See you around.”

“Try not to get shot, cowboy.” Fareeha grins. “Not too much, anyways.”

“That’s my line,” Angela mutters under her breath.

“Yeah, yeah. You two go have fun.” McCree turns, waving over his shoulder. “I’ll be back, if not tonight then tomorrow night.”

“Sure.” Fareeha waves him off. “Angela?”

“I know, we’re going.” Angela nods at McCree. “I mean it though, be careful.”

“Always have been.” McCree chuckles at the look on her face as she drives off. He watches them turn the corner, rolls his shoulders, and yawns. 

“First,” he mutters to himself, “I need some coffee.”

 

* * *

 

Angela draws the blinds, watching the rough fabric catch the light. She can’t help but smile. “It’s nice to stretch your legs, isn’t it?”

“I did feel a little cooped up.” Fareeha straightens up, finishing her inspection of the room. “This place is…” She sighs. “I don’t want to say ‘safe’, but…”

“Clear?” Angela sits down on the edge of one of the beds. “I would hope so.  _ We _ didn’t even know we were going to be here.”

“Sure.” Fareeha looks around. “The walls aren’t overly thick, but we should be fine.”

Angela looks at Fareeha, then laughs. “Out of context—”

Fareeha stiffens, but she can’t hide her grin. “Angela!”

Angela sticks out her tongue. “Anyways, what are we going to do? I don’t think we should really be wandering around in broad daylight either.”

Fareeha shakes her head and chuckles to herself. “You know, Winston told me this wasn’t going to be a very covert thing.”

“Winston’s absolutely aggravated by the fact that this has all happened.” Angela pulls out her phone and thumbs through a long block of text.

“Most agents don’t seem like the types to stick perfectly to the plan.”

“Even you?” Angela cocks her head.

“You know, I would number myself among the ones that do, but you seem to be a bad influence.” Fareeha crosses her arms and flashes a smirk.

Angela gasps. “I would never! Between you and me, which one is the bigger troublemaker? I would think it’s you by default; you’re the one with the jetpack and rockets.”

“Dignified and disciplined,” Fareeha mutters. “Top of the line, high quality engineering and a lifetime of training…”

“Jetpack and rockets, Fareeha.”

Fareeha scowls. “You’re not innocent either. We’re  _ both  _ fools.”

Angela laughs. “Maybe we are, together.” She sighs. “I suppose that’s why things happen the way they do in Overwatch. We’re all exceptionally qualified people on our own, but, well…”

“It seems to work out most of the time.”

“Maybe so, but I believe it gives all the commanders more headaches than they would like.” Angela pats the space next to her. “Well, if we’re stuck inside all day, then I guess we should see what’s on.” She tilts her head towards the screen on the opposite wall.

“Hotels usually don’t have very good selections.” Still, Fareeha sits down at Angela’s side. “We shouldn’t have read the entire book in one sitting.”

“It wouldn’t have lasted the rest of the day anyways.” Angela picks up the remote, picks a random channel, and settles back. “Oh good, an old soap opera.”

“You don’t  _ actually  _ like these things, do you?”

“No one does, but you always get invested anyways.” Angela smiles again. “Besides, we still have a bit of that mediocre chocolate left.”

Fareeha looks over her shoulder, slightly down at Angela. She snorts. “Oh, well then I’m sold.”

“Great.” Angela offers Fareeha a piece of chocolate. “If anyone asks, I was working on my latest research with the bit of equipment that I brought.”

“And I was writing a report and sorting through correspondences.”

“Of course.” Angela breaks off a piece of chocolate for herself and closes her eyes to savor it a little. Fareeha’s right; it is pretty mediocre. “What a long and busy day we have ahead of us.” Fareeha snorts.

 

* * *

 

“Ethan!” Angela gasps. “How could he?”

“What a snake,” Fareeha agrees. “James deserves better.”

“They’re really just going to leave it on a cliffhanger aren’t they?” Angela shakes her head. “That’s a cheap tactic.”

Fareeha looks at the dim orange light spilling under the curtains, then pulls out her phone and checks the time. “Did we really just spend nine hours… watching bad television drama..?”

“We ran out of chocolate.” Angela mumbles, somewhat dejected.

Fareeha gives her an amused look. “Oh, you’re not going to comment on the fact that we both skipped lunch?” Angela merely grumbles incoherently. “Alright, we both need to take a walk. Let’s go get some fresh air.” Saying that, Fareeha grabs Angela by the arm and half drags her out the door.

“We should get food.” Angela says, loudly, several minutes later. She does seem to enjoy the cool air and the short walk, however. She coughs. “I mean, we should eat. Only sugar for the day is… not good.”

“Not good.” Fareeha smirks. “Cogent.”

“Shut up.”

“Once again…” Fareeha reconsiders finishing that sentence. “Well, then what do you want?”

“I don’t k—” Angela begins, but Fareeha suddenly stiffens.

“Shh.” She hisses, glaring into the window she had just walked in front of. Without warning, she darts through the door of the establishment.

Angela frowns and looks up, reading the sign. “A bar? Fareeha, what…” She trails off, realising the door had closed. “Alright,” she mutters. “Sure.” She reaches for the door.

Inside, the lights are dim and orange, moody, in a way. The darkened windows give all outside light a gray tint. Angela blinks twice to adjust her eyes, then follows the confused but only slightly concerned look of the omnic bartender to the far end of the bar. Her lips begin to form a question but her ears answer it for her.

“ _ Chingada madre— _ take it easy! Ow, how are you, ow, this strong?”

“Training.” Fareeha’s reply is flat. “What are  _ you  _ doing here?”

“Getting a drink or three, if it wasn’t obvious.” She winces and tries to subtly run her fingers along her belt, and finds that the action has both not escaped Fareeha’s notice and yielded nothing anyways—the belt is full; she had not thought to set any preparations. “Just getting a damn drink.”

“You get around a lot, don’t you?” Angela squints at her, then turns an apologetic look on the bartender. He shrugs.

“Oh you have no idea. Can you—can you stop with the arm twisting? I’ve got nothing.”

“That’s a lie and we all know it.” Fareeha scowls. “And you know what we mean when we ask, so let’s try again. Why are you here?”

“If you’re here you know already. Everyone else is off dealing with their own drama, fine by me, less people looking over my shoulder you know, but it’s been a headache and a half.” 

“Has it? You don’t seem like the type to be trusted with an… administrative position,” Angela says.

“So, here’s the thing…” She looks over Angela’s shoulder, then nervously taps the countertop. “That’s my problem—ow, I wasn’t finished talking  _ chica _ , calm down, but considering the situation, let’s make a deal. You let me go, and I’ll leave and let you do your thing around here. Wouldn’t want that bomb slipping through your fingers.”

“Or, we don’t do that and you get taken out of the equation anyways,” Fareeha hisses.

“You’re not equipped to take captives, and I know the good doctor here...” As she says this, Angela stiffens. “....Wouldn’t let you kill me.”

“You...” Angela clenches her fists.

“Think about it. It’s a bomb. A really big one. You can’t afford to let that fall into anyone else’s hands, don’t you think?” She raises an eyebrow.

Fareeha and Angela exchange a look. Angela gives her a resigned shrug. Fareeha lets go. “You really are the worst.”

“I know.” She straightens up, downs the last remaining dregs of her drinks, and rolls her shoulders. “Congratulations, by the way. Your relationship is a lot more stable than I thought.”

“No thanks to you.” Angela narrows her eyes. “Get out of here.”

“You know, I think I contributed. Call it a bonding exercise. But thanks.” She grins, and disappears in a shower of purple light.

Angela sighs. “Do you think she’s actually going to keep up her end of the deal?”

“Doubtful,” Fareeha mutters. “But…” She trails off as a shadow falls over the door. Her eyes shift from largely tired to incredulous. Angela turns around.

“She’s gone again.” The voice is thick with disgust. The woman, tall and powerfully built with a shock of pink hair surveys the scene. Her eyes narrow, but her voice takes on a polite, if not slightly flat tone. “I know you.”

Fareeha opens her mouth to reply, but frowns at Angela’s frantic gesture. She looks over at the bartender, passively washing a glass. “If you want to talk…”

“I do.” 

“...We should pick a better place to do it.”

She considers it. “Very well.”

It only takes roughly ten minutes to walk back, but the moody silence and empty stomachs are poor for filling the time. Angela briefly considers trying to excuse herself to go buy something, but dismisses that as a bad idea. 

Fareeha closes the door, closes her eyes, and listens for a moment at the door. Hearing nothing, she opens her eyes. “Aleksandra Zaryanova. I thought you were still with the military.”

“So I am.”

“The military operating in Siberia.”

Zarya crosses her arms and gives Fareeha a cool look. “In the same way that Overwatch is not operating in America?”

“Strictly speaking, we’re not forbidden from operating here,” Angela says.

“ _ Strictly speaking _ , doctor, you are supposed to declare your operations.” She scowls. “And seeing as I was not aware that you would be here, I do not believe you have.”

“We don’t control who the U.S. does or does not choose to tell,” Angela says lightly.

“Angela…” Fareeha gives her a glance out of the side of her eye.

Angela pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. “I know.”

“Forgive us for being a little bit defensive,” Fareeha says placatingly. “We’re all on edge here.”

“Perhaps.” Zarya’s stony expression, however, softens slightly. “Fareeha Amari. I have a great deal of respect for you.”

“Thank you.” Fareeha nods. “But—”

“I cannot say the same for Overwatch.” She turns to look at Angela.

Fareeha’s expression quickly changes. “However you felt about Overwatch before, do not take it out on us.”

“No.” Zarya shakes her head. “I merely worry you will go down the same path.”

“We have worked hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Angela draws back, an edge in her voice. She glances between them. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go find something to eat.”

Zarya watches her move to the door and slip out, but makes no move to stop her. “Now, we must speak. I have business here; I wonder if you have anything to do with it.” She shifts again to face Fareeha.

“Business?” Fareeha asks.

“Sombra.” The name hangs in the air.

“I figured.” Fareeha shakes her head. “I hoped that it wasn’t, but she’s mostly proved her ability.”

Zarya grunts. “So Helix is aware that she is one person.”

Fareeha inclines her head. “I would hope so. She is a great concern to us.”

“She is to many.”

Fareeha sighs. “Including Overwatch, yes.”

“I saw a glow, and I know what that color means.” Zarya tilts her head, eyes glimmering in the faint slit of light coming through the curtains. “Where has she gone?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Zarya’s eyes narrow. “And yet you were in the same room.”

“It’s been a bad day,” Fareeha says, “and you know she’s slippery.”

“Unfortunately.” Zarya’s lip curls. “Yet she is prone to boasting. You are sure she said nothing that could give away her location?”

“She merely said that she would be leaving the area with all due haste.” Fareeha chuckles dryly. “I would think the presence of both myself, Angela, and now you would be enough to scare some people off.”

“I believe she would be able to hide here even so.” Zarya shakes her head. “Overwatch… are you here hunting her as well, then?”

“No.” A flash of surprise touches Zarya’s eyes.

She shakes it off quickly. “Deadlock then.” Fareeha nods. Zarya holds her gaze for a moment, then the tension eases out of her stance. “I see.” She looks to the side and sighs. “I have been harsh. My apologies. Overwatch’s efforts to help Russia has not gone unnoticed; it is the reason I am able to take time away from Krasnoyarsk.”

“I appreciate it, but perhaps you should have saved that until Angela got back.”

The awkward silence settles again. “She is… a good doctor,” Zarya says at last.

“She is.”

“A… saver of many lives.” She says it slowly.

“So what’s the problem?” Fareeha crosses her arms.

“She was partially responsible for the running of Overwatch, with the position that she held. And Overwatch,” Zarya says, “once lost sight of what it was for.”

“And that is?”

“To fight omnics. And prevent the death that they bring.” The words are heavy, but, curiously, slightly hesitant. For the first time, Fareeha notices Zarya’s resolve waver.

“Humans can bring death too, Zaryanova.” Fareeha has to hold her voice steady. “In the later days they became a greater threat. The god programs are either quarantined or destroyed.”

“So you say. And I do not disagree that humans can do harm. But while humans fight humans the enemy prepares to kill us all. Humanity needs to stand together, as much as it can. Instead Overwatch tore itself apart, and left us alone to defend ourselves.” Zarya lets her words linger in the air for a moment, then appears to gather herself and shake the somber topic from her mind. “Perhaps, when this is all over, we may hit the gym,  _ da _ ? You look like you work out.”

“I do, but—” Fareeha blinks, taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

“Show me your bests sometime. It is good for troubled minds.” 

“I… alright.” Fareeha shakes herself, also clearing the gloom from her head. “Are you still working on beating 512?”

Zarya grins. “Unfortunately. It is too bad. I had hoped to surpass it this year.”

“You still have time left.”

“Ha, well, focus on your own records, little Amari.” Before Fareeha can shoot back, Zarya moves for the door. “Good luck.”

She passes Angela on the way out. Angela steps aside to let her pass, giving her a curious look that follows her for as long as Angela can still see her. Angela shakes her head and clears her thoughts before rounding the corner and re-entering the room. She finds Fareeha sitting half slumped in a chair, looking absolutely bewildered.

“Oh good, you break anything,” she mutters.

Fareeha seems to snap out of it, looking up. “What?”

Angela shakes her head and flashes Fareeha a teasing smile. “Sometimes people feel the need to settle something with, say, an arm wrestle. Sometimes, those people break the table because they don’t know when to quit.” Her eyes darken and she mutters something about Reinhardt. “Anyways,” she says, holding up something wrapped in paper, “I got food, and McCree says he’s going to try to drop by sometime tonight. Seeing as it’s already evening, I’d expect that to be soon.”

Fareeha checks her phone to confirm. She accepts the parcel. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem. In the meantime, I’m going to take a shower.” Angela wrinkles her nose. “We’ve spent too many days trapped inside of that car.”

“Sure.” Fareeha has to chase a bit of haze from her mind.

Angela pauses at the door to the bathroom to look at her. “Eat. It’ll perk you up.” She closes the door before she catches Fareeha’s reply. 

“...not here, which is to be expected, but I’m glad to confirm. Hey Angela.” McCree lifts his hand in a casual wave. She nods, still trying to pat the water out of her hair. “Figure you’ll have your proper gun fight tomorrow evening.”

“What did I miss in the few minutes I was gone?” Angela asks. “By the way, remember the talk we had about how bad your timing is?”

“I went over it already.” Fareeha leans back, closes her eyes, and begins to count off on her fingers. “There’s a hideout a little ways into the mountains. The weapons are definitely being stashed there. All the civilians stay away from the place and don’t ask questions. There’s a lot of money riding on this deal. There’s a fair amount of activity, but he he hasn’t seen any major leaders of Deadlock  _ or  _ Talon around.”

“Spent a while just before you two showed up giving them all a lot of things to be distracted by.” McCree stretches back, cat-like, looking for all the world like a map ready to take a nap, save for the keen glimmer in his eye. “Got only one more thing to investigate, but I figure that can wait until tomorrow. Mind if I sleep on the floor or something?”

“There are two beds.” Angela nods at the beds. “You really don’t need to sleep on the floor.”

“Uhuh. But here’s the thing, Ana’s ghost is going to kick my ass if I let you two share a bed and—”

“Jesse.” Fareeha says, without opening her eyes. “Don’t worry about my mother killing you.” She opens her eyes. “I’m going to do it myself.” She suddenly lunges for him.

McCree, demonstrating a surprising agility, ducks out of the way, quickly transitioning from a roll into a wary crouch across the room. “Besides, I’m covered in dust and dirt; wouldn’t want to trouble the cleaning staff, and no point anyways until after tomorrow because I’m just gonna get all mucked up again. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Angela looks down at him, somewhat bemused. “You know, I suddenly have no qualms about him sleeping on the floor.” She looks up. “Fareeha?”

“No objections.” She stands up, dusts herself off, and shoots McCree a dirty look. “He sleeps on the floor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again caught between tagging to avoid and tagging to find. Should I tag characters that aren't major, recurring ones? Or would that come off as more bait-y? Do let me know if you have any advice ^^;


	30. People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela starts a rock collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's been a bit longer than usual, hasn't it? It make up for it, I'm here with two chapters, one slightly shorter, one... honestly much longer than I thought it would be. I hope you enjoy!

_“And this,” he said, placing the piece down with a note of triumphant finalty, “is the youngest layer. It’s limestone again.”_

_“Nerd.” The voice ementated from a chair in the corner._

_“You’re not even looking, asshole.”_

_“Well, I think it’s interesting at least,” Angela said, uncertainly. She wasn’t quite sure what she was doing here._

_“Don’t encourage him.” Captain Ana Amari didn’t even look up from her papers. She gestured in the air with a still-steaming cup of tea, much to Angela’s alarm. “He is a nerd.”_

_“No one asked you.”_

_“I did. Hey Ana, what do you think of his little geography model?”_

_“I think it’s fascinating—”_

_“Hah!”_

_“—Especially the part about schist. If he skips over the second ‘s’ enough you don’t even have to pretend.”_

_“Fuck you. I thought we were friends.”_

_Ana snorted, and muttered something along the lines of “You wish”. She took a sip of her tea and flipped the paper. After several minutes of silence, she looked up. “Oh, Dr. Ziegler, sorry to keep you waiting.”_

_Angela shook her head, then hurriedly handed over her papers, trying to smooth them and prevent the top pages from flipping in the air. She couldn’t figure out what to say, but realized that saying nothing might be worse. She fumbled a bit over both her papers and her words, and in the end managed only a weak “It’s no trouble.”_

_“Sorry to make her listen to the entire rock lecture more like.”_

_“You two are hopeless. Listen,” rough, calloused fingers wrapped around a chunk of darker, grainy, reddish stone. “This is like 500 million years of history packed into an area smaller than my fist. It’s what the world is made of how is that not cool.”_

_“Doctor, please educate him on what elements are.”_

_“Well—”_

_“The one nice hobby I have and you two do this. I’m being bullied.”_

_“Ah, but the study of the components of… that is to say the elements, even on a larger scale than one would associate with… because everything at its basic level… and natural history… I mean…” Angela cleared her throat and trailed off._

_“Thanks kid, it’s good to know someone has my back.”_

_“Stop calling everyone over 20 years younger than you a kid; she’s a grown adult.”_

_“As if you don’t do it too! It’s a charming old person thing.”_

_“More like condescending.”_

_Ana shook her head. “They’re even worse than Torbjörn, aren’t they?” She smiled at Angela. “Thank you for coming down. You’re dismissed; better get going before these two try to kill each over.”_

_Angela hesitated, still grappling with exactly how much decorum she should be showing. “Captain, with all due respect,” she said, tentatively, “that does not particularly motivate me to leave.”_

_“Ha!” There was a bark of laughter._

_Ana smirked. “Maybe so. But you probably have work to do, don’t you?”_

_Angela paused, and dipped her head. “Er… of course.” She hurriedly backed out the door. As she closed it behind her, she caught a final piece of conversation._

_“You know what they say when you can’t change something? They say it’s set in stone. But stone changes, and with a lot of time and hard work, it gets built up and worn down and shaped and reshaped by its environment, but it’s always stone. Like people.”_

_“...”_

_“Don’t get sappy and romantic on us now, Gabe.”_

 

* * *

 

Angela rolls the pebble between her fingers, breath pluming misty white in the air. The pebble is cold from the night frost. It’s grey, round and smooth. _A river stone_ , she thinks idly. _I wonder how it got here_. She shakes her head and turns to step back inside. For a moment, she moves to drop the pebble. She changes her mind, tucking it into her pocket before slipping through the door.

The lobby is quiet; Angela gets the feeling most people visiting are here on business. The omnic at the desk briefly lights up in greeting. Angela nods and hurries away.

The room is still dark when she gets back, quiet save for the sound of air conditioning and the slow breathing of sleep. Angela casts her gaze across the space and allows herself a moment of personal triumph—it’s rare that she’s the first one awake. She allows herself another moment to admit that it’s not worth it. Her eyes settle on Fareeha, and she thumbs the stone in her pocket. Again, the thought. _How did you get here?_ Of all the people and all the places in the world… she shakes her head again. It’s a pessimistic thought.

As if prompted, Fareeha rolls over, blearily opens her eyes, and squints. “Everything alright?”

Despite herself, Angela breaks into a wide smile. “Why do you say that?”

Fareeha breathes deeply and props herself up on her elbows, dark hair spilling across her shoulders. “You’re never up this early.”

“Is that right?” Angela cocks her head.

“You don’t _wake up_ this early.” Fareeha corrects herself, voice lightly teasing. “And you’re making a weird face at me.”

“Not at you.” Angela says. She takes a thoughtful pause. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that before.”

“What?”

“‘Weird’. It’s a… weird… thing to hear coming out of your mouth.”

Fareeha sits up and gives Angela a searching look. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright? Besides,” the corner of her mouth pulls up into a slight grin. “There’s a lot of very ordinary words you’ve never heard me say.”

Angela resists her immediate urge to say “Like what?” and instead tries to think of something in response.

Fareeha closes her eyes, as if concentrating deeply, then loudly proclaims: “Taxes.”

McCree stirs from under his nest of blankets. “What now?”

Angela has to bite her lip to stop from laughing. Fareeha, meanwhile, turns, somewhat abashed but resolute. “Taxes. Haven’t you been arrested for tax fraud?”

“Not _arrested_ per se..” McCree lays back with a groan. “Landed in some hot water over it of course; smuggling you know, comes with the territory.” He looks up. “Why am I telling you this?”

Fareeha snorts. “Neither of us have tried to arrest you yet, Jesse.”

“Yet.” McCree covers his eyes. “Urgh, my head.”

“Your head?” Angela casts him a half curious, half worried look.

“Hangover.”

“You have a hangover.” Fareeha folds her arms and fixes McCree with a stern look. “Despite being completely when you went to sleep.”

“What can I say, I got restless in the middle of the night.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “You do know that I _would_ give you something to prevent that if you asked, right?”

“Prevent what? The restlessness or the hangover?”

“Both.” Angela crosses over to her bag and begins to rummage around in it. “But too late now.”

“Huh.” McCree lifts his arm and peers hopefully at Angela. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything to help in that bag?”

“Of course I do.” Angela’s fingers wrap around a bottle. She pulls it out, peers at the label, and looks up. “But you’re going to have to get up.”

McCree groans. “I don’t _have_ to get up until evening.”

“You also don’t _have_ to deal with that hangover.”

Fareeha chuckles. “She’s got you there.”

“... Fine.” McCree sits up, grimacing.

Angela gives him a look as if to say “That’s what I thought.” and goes to pour out a glass of water. She unscrews the top of the bottle, tips one tablet into her hand, and drops it in, taking a moment to swirl it around and watch it dissolve. She crosses over to McCree’s side and hands him the glass.

He accepts with a gracious nod. “Thanks.” He takes a sip, downs the rest in one go, and sighs, settling back a little. “Where would we be without you, doc?”

Angela snorts. “Where indeed…” She tosses the bottle back into the bag. “I would suggest you actually get up, even if you have to do it slowly, but…”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I think that means we should get out and let him sleep.” Fareeha combs her fingers through her hair and reaches vaguely towards the nightstand. “I guess we just have to burn time until the sun goes down.”

“You can try to take a walk up into the hills. Foothills? Mountains?” McCree gestures vaguely in the air. “Just try not get get seen. Or shot, rather.”

“We’ll be fine. They all dress like you, don’t they?” Fareeha throws a look at the hat and boots hung and propped respectively against a chair in the corner. “No one else would.”

“Yellow bandanas usually. Have fun. Don’t get lost.”

Fareeha snorts. “We’ll try our best.”

 

* * *

 

The air is still a bit brisk when they step out, even more so in the cold dappled shadows cast by the trees. The reddish ground is still slightly damp, and here and there threads of silvery white frost glitter in the grass. Deeper into the forest, the ground becomes covered with a bed of needles interspersed with small bushes. Angela peers into the blue darkness under the trees that the sun can’t yet pierce. It’s almost eerily quiet.

The vague feeling of unease dissipates with Fareeha’s presence. The sounds of her moving and her warmth drive away the fear like the sun drives away the morning’s fog. She walks up behind Angela, stands at her side, and crosses her arms, following Angela’s gaze into the forest. For a long time neither of them says anything. They just stand there, side by side, and watch the trees.

“I suppose we’re going on a hike.” Angela finally breaks the silence.

“I suppose we are.” Fareeha looks down at her. “Got any ideas?”

“Aside from picking a direction and trying not to get lost?” Angela shrugs. “No.”

“That’s a terrible plan.” Fareeha chuckles and turns away. “You know there are trails around here right?”

“I…” Angela searches around for a believable excuse. She doesn’t find anything. “I’ll admit I didn’t look into it.”

“I don’t believe they’ll be very well maintained though. People are too afraid of rouge omnics in the woods, I suppose.” She takes a few steps, stops, and looks back, raising an eyebrow. “You coming?”

“Oh! Right, sorry.” Angela hurries over. Fareeha turns as she catches up, resuming her brisk strides. Angela has to jog to keep up with her longer strides. “I need to work out more,” she hisses, after some time.

Fareeha slows down a little, giving her a glance of amusement. “You could join me sometime. Brigitte and I like to hit the watchpoint gym together.”

“Certainly. But,” Angela throws Fareeha a suspicious glance. “Are you walking that fast on purpose?”

“Who knows?” Fareeha laughs as Angela leans over and gives her a light shove. “I’ll slow down.”

“Don’t you dare.” Angela scowls. “I’ve let myself go lately. Finish what you’ve started.”

Fareeha laughs again. “If you insist.” She returns to her previous pace.

“I haven’t been _this_ bad since… before the recall.” Angela mutters to herself.

“Mm. Is this the same time frame as the bad taste in drinks?”

“I—It…” Angela clears her throat. “To be fair I’ve always had a bad taste in…” She trails off.

Fareeha snorts. “And yet good taste in chocolate, from what I’ve seen.”

“And what have you…” Angela shakes her head. “Nevermind. I do leave wrappers around sometimes, don’t I?”

“Sometimes. Genji also commented on it some time ago.” Fareeha shrugs. “He said, and I quote, that you were ‘particular’ about these things.”

“I just have a favorite.” Angela smiles. “Did he actually say that? I didn’t think that anyone would actually notice.”

“It seems you’ve been proven wrong at least twice now.”

Angela’s smile widens. “So I have. For once I’m glad to be wrong.”

 

“Watch your step.” Fareeha pauses at the base of one particularly gnarled tree. She nods at the roots curling out of the dirt.

“Thanks.” Angela pauses and leans against the tree. She looks up the path and makes a face at the suddenly steep and rocky path. “This is why I made the wings.”

“Hiking?”

“Yes.” Angela keeps a straight face. “Essentially.”

“Ah.” Fareeha also turns and looks up the path. It winds upward into the trees towards a ridge highlighted against the now vibrantly blue sky. The wind rustles through the branches, bringing with it notes of the coming winter. She looks back. “Ready?”

“As always.” Angela flashes a smile.

Fareeha rolls her eyes and turns away again. She scrambles over a knee-high rock outcropping, turns, and offers Angela her hand. “Let’s go.”

Angela reaches up, grabs her hand, and allows herself to be helped up. “Thank you. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

A comfortable quiet descends as the two concentrate on climbing. Where the shade is thickest, the cold air turns their breaths into mist. The ground is alternatingly spongy and crackly with melted and unmelted frost. As they move, the dusty, reddish earth turns to darker brown soil, thoroughly mixed with dead needles and leaves. Chunks of stone poke out of the ground, some presumably from where the path was first cleared, while a few others, more like boulders, occasionally rise out of the forest floor.

About an hour after their last break, Fareeha pauses, mostly to watch a squirrel skitter across the path and up a nearby tree. She tilts her head to follow its movement into the higher branches, claws scrabbling on the flaky bark. No other sounds of life can be heard.

“We’re being a bit noisy, aren’t we?” Angela’s voice sounds in Fareeha’s ear.

Fareeha jumps and instinctively whips around. “H—Don’t do that!”

“Well, maybe not as noisy as I thought then.” Angela pulls away and holds her her hands. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was there.”

“There are armed cowboy reenactor bandits out here in the woods with us.” Fareeha takes a deep breath. “I don’t want—just make sure I know you’re there when you get that close, please.”

“Of course.” Angela nods apologetically, then directs her gaze towards the top of the ridge. “What do you say? Halfway there? More?”

“I’d place it more at 2/3rds.” Fareeha glances towards where the squirrel had disappeared, sees no movement, and begins to move on before catching more movement in the corner of her eye, looking back just in time to catch Angela slipping something into her pocket. She gives her a curious look.

Angela waves her hands as if to say “It’s nothing.” Fareeha shrugs and turns back around.

At the top of the ridge, the trees give way to large, pale stone outcroppings. On the other side, the ground slopes down into forested hills, rising to the left into low mountains. Fareeha blinks in the sudden, bright sunlight and looks up, taking in the great dome of sky, clear and blue with wisps of pale clouds streaking high above. There’s a sort of late autumn half-warmth in the air.

Angela steps up to Fareeha’s side and looks around as well. “What is that, do you think? A hawk?”

“What?” Fareeha looks around and follows Angela’s gaze. Angela points at a large, dark brown bird sitting in a tall, dead tree further down the ridge. “An eagle, maybe?” Fareeha squints. “It’s large for a hawk.”

“Hmm…” Angela pulls her phone out of her pocket.

Fareeha looks over Angela’s shoulder, amusement glimmering in her eyes. “Is that a bird field guide?”

“Maybe.”

Fareeha chuckles. “Nerd.”

“I’m a scientist, dear, I think that’s a given.” Angela looks down at her screen, then up at the bird, then back down at the screen and so forth for a few minutes. “Golden eagle maybe?”

The bird shifts and turns away a little bit, looking down into the valley. Fareeha nods. “Look at the gold hackles.”

Angela elbows her in the side. “You can’t smirk and call me a nerd and then turn around and say that!”

“I never said it was a bad thing!” Fareeha puts her hands up placatingly. “I think birds of prey are interesting.”

Angela laughs and traces the shape of Fareeha’s helmet in the air with a finger. “So I recall.”

“It’s a good design!” Fareeha folds her arms across her chest, a defensive note creeping into her voice.

Angela smiles and reaches up to pat her on the head. “I never said it was a bad thing.”

Fareeha opens her mouth, then closes it. She curses silently as she feels the warmth in her face. She abruptly turns, climbs onto the nearest boulder, and sits down. After a few moments, she hears the clattering of stones behind her and a few heartbeats later, Angela sits down beside her, their shoulders gently brushing together. They sit and look out over the valley. It’s quiet.

After several minutes, and despite the sun shining down upon them, Angela shivers slightly, and bundles up closer to Fareeha’s side. She stiffens. Once again, that damnable warmth returns to Fareeha’s cheeks.

“You’re tense.” Angela murmurs.

_Of course I’m tense._ Fareeha forces herself to relax. “Cowboy reenactor bandits, remember?”

“Not to encourage complacency, but most of them aren’t even half as quiet as McCree. From what I hear, they’re much more into… explosions.”

“Everyone is these days.” Fareeha snorts. “I got a file, maybe a few years ago, that described…” She trails off.

“Described?” Angela raises an eyebrow and looks up at Fareeha. Fareeha’s eyes flick down to meet hers for a moment before going back to looking straight ahead.

“People to look out for. Arrest on sight sort of targets. 2 and a half pages filled entirely with lists of crimes, every single one involving explosives and, naturally, a great deal on money. I was almost impressed.” Fareeha sighs. “It’s grown steadily since I first got it. The entire thing was submitted to Winston’s—or, _Athena’s_ database, rather.”

“Overwatch’s database.” Angela corrects.

“But managed by Athena.”

“For the most part.” Angela concedes. She pauses. “Did you have any files on Deadlock?”

“Of course, but I’m not sure if we’ve ever directly interacted with them in any major way. America has always been pretty adamant about dealing with their own problems themselves.”

“I see. Did these files also make it in with the Overwatch ones?”

“Yes, but as far as I can recall there was very little that Overwatch didn’t already know, thanks to Jesse.” Fareeha takes a deep breath, then, tentatively, leans back into Angela, who doesn’t seem to react.

“He always said he didn’t actually like to come back to Deadlock territory.” Angela hums.

Fareeha shrugs. “They were his friends. Some of them, anyways.”

They sit together in a somewhat more contemplative, solemn silence than before, still looking out together over the green-clad slopes before them. The wind rustles the trees. A few more clouds appear in the sky from the distant horizon. Angela shifts and settles down again.

“Well,” Fareeha says abruptly, “We should probably get going.”

Angela sighs, and reluctantly begins to get up. “I suppose we should at least get something to eat.”

“That would be nice, yes.” Fareeha gets up as well, and dusts herself off. “By the time we get back… the sunlight goes fast; we have some preparations to make.”

“Right.” What remains of Angela’s light smile fades. “Speaking of which, where do you think this base is?”

Fareeha pauses to consider the question. “Somewhere in the valley, I would assume.” She nods at the way they had came, at the larger valley and the town at its mouth. “It’s temporary, relying upon fear to keep people away. They would want to be closer to the roads.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d better hurry back.”

Behind them, the eagle rises from its perch, and glides down into the valley.

 

* * *

 

Angela listens to the quiet murmur of conversation as she sits by the window, fingers idly tracing swirls on the sill. She glances over her shoulder. Fareeha and McCree are huddled in deep conversation, both leaning over the single, small table. Every once in a while, one of them points or shakes their head.

Angela turns away again, hesitates, and quietly empties her pockets. The gray pebble. A small piece of rough, pink, black, and white speckled granite. A small chunk of sandstone from the ridge. She places each one down gently, careful not to make any noise. The last rays of sunlight wash gold and orange across the stones. Angela stares at them. A voice bubbles up somewhere from the depths of her memory. From a long time ago.

_“Like people.”_ Angela brushes her thumb over the granite and watches the little silvery flecks in it shimmer in the light. She turns her eyes to the sandstone, its grains also sparkling in the sunset. _Like us._

“Angela.” Angela looks up, Fareeha’s voice drawing her away. “Come over here, we need to review the plan.”

“Of course.” Angela gives one last look to the sill, then stands up. “I’m coming.”


	31. Moonrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things work out almost perfectly. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm never sure how folks like to read updates on here but this is a two-chapter update! Make sure you've read the previous chapter before continuing with this one!

_“Long time no see.” The faint speck of light bobbed in the dark. “Feels like I’ve been saying that a lot lately.”_

_“You’re taking this surprisingly well.”_

_“Eh, maybe I’m just desensitized.”_

_“Don’t be dramatic.” The gravelly growl filled the air._

_“Shush.” The word is said with an almost scolding disapproval. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”_

_“Well enough.”_

_“Good. But not everyone needs to know, do you understand?”_

_“Perfectly. But you should do the same, you know? They…_ she _didn’t take it well last time.”_

_“I know.”_

_“Ever thought about making up for that?”_

_“What is there to make up?”_

_“...”_

_“I did what I felt was right. We all do.”_

 

* * *

 

Somewhere in the night, an owl hoots. Fareeha freezes, and glances over to McCree. He shakes his head. She nods, relaxes, and continues moving forward, the carpet of needles slightly muffling her footsteps. The moon, peering large and yellow over the horizon, reflects in soft, faint stripes of light down the rocket launcher. Her breath rises in white clouds from her lips.

An owl hoots again. Fareeha stops and looks to McCree again. He nods. Fareeha looks away, cocks her head, and listens closer this time. A few minutes pass. The sound comes again. Ahead and slightly to the left. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees McCree nod again. She looks over her shoulder, meeting Angela’s eyes. She points towards the source of the sound. Angela nods. They begin to move again.

 

The young man sits on the edge of a rock, eyes scanning the dark blue depths of the woods. The ground slopes down away from his post; it’s a good spot for him to keep an eye on a lot of space. Everything’s quiet. He pulls his scarf closer around his head and hunkers down, shivering. How long has it been..? He shakes his head. Better safe than sorry. He opens his mouth, coaxing the noise of a great horned owl’s call from his cold lips.

Suddenly, the moonlight is blotted out. The man leaps up form his spot and turns in the sudden shadow. A voice sounds out of the night above and behind him. “Found you.”

The night lights up with a blossom of light. An explosion, small and controlled, but an explosion nonetheless, rocks the slope, then swiftly dissipates.

Angela blinks rapidly, trying to dispel the afterimage of a rocket detonation that close, suddenly acutely aware of why the Raptora visors are tinted. She peers down the slope, scanning for where the man ended up.

“He should still be alive; I made sure of that.” Fareeha says.

“He’s alive.” Angela’s gaze settles on a point further down the slope, on a shape now half-covered in pine needles and wedged against a tree.

“How do you…” Fareeha looks down the slope at the unmoving form. She couldn’t tell at this distance. She didn’t know anyone that could.

“Hm?” Angela looks up. “Oh, it’s… we don’t have time to stand around and talk about it. Let’s go.”

“If you’re sure.” Fareeha turns away slightly and speaks into her comm. “We got one.”

“I noticed.” McCree’s voice crackles through. “I’m in. Unfortunately, they weren’t stupid enough to split themselves by sending more folks into the woods. Give me… 10 more minutes before getting to my location. Watch for the other sentries.” As he speaks, a small map appears in the corner of Fareeha’s visor, with her, Angela, and McCree marked on it. As she watches, McCree moves, albeit slowly.

“Angela? We’re going up.” Angela nods in acknowledgement.

The first jump into the air is always a rush. Fareeha takes the briefest of moments to savor it, to savor the feeling of the clear night sky and the view of the ground receding from her. The light of her jets mingle with the glow of Angela’s wings, a veritable beacon in the darkness. She scans the ground, searching for movement. _Come get us._

“Think the other lookouts are going to leave their posts?” Fareeha hovers in the air. She glances at Angela, who also has her eyes trained on the ground.

There’s a long pause before McCree answers. “It’s a toss up. Technically they’re not supposed to but if something’s going down and they don’t try to help they’ll get thrashed just as much as they would if they left and let someone through.”

“I see.”

“You _really_ should have gone over all of this _before_ the mission.” Angela chimes in.

“I know, just—” McCree cuts out, long enough for both Fareeha and Angela to look in his general direction and get ready to bolt towards him. “No point talking about it now. Gotta go.” His voice flows through the comm again.

Fareeha has just enough time to breathe a sigh of relief before she spots a shadow flitting between the trees, darting from one tree to another. “Hostile sighted.”

Angela’s head immediately snaps around, focusing back onto the ground, searching for what Fareeha’s seen. “Just the one?”

“As far as I see.” Fareeha moves to intercept, eyes tracking the figure. “It’s trying to keep to the tree cover.”

“Smart.” Angela scans for a few more seconds. “I see.”

Fareeha hovers for a moment, pinpointing the location. “I’m going in.” She drops down, trying not to lose the figure in the motion.

Angela tucks her wings in and dives after Fareeha, and for the briefest of moments she swears she can hear a yelp from down below. Something whizzes past; a shot that went wide.

Another explosion blooms in the darkness and fades. Angela, slower in her descent, notices the figure stumbling away, turning, and taking aim. She slides her hands to the bottom of her staff, flips it around, and uses her momentum to bring the end down, just barely catching the gun and tearing it out of the figure’s hands. Her wings extend, pulling her to a full stop, and she immediately takes another step and swings her staff into their torso. The figure drops to the ground.

“I missed.” Fareeha comes up the slope from where she had skidded to a stop. She looks over at the figure gasping on the ground, an impressed note in her voice. “Was that the staff?”

Angela shrugs. “I’ve had practice with it. And I hit them with the end that doesn’t have a lot of complex, valuable machinery in it.” She leans down, picks up the gun at her feet, and then carefully unloads it.

“That thing is _ancient_ ,” Fareeha mutters, taking a closer look at the gun. “Where did they get that?”

“We can ask someone later.” Angela stows it away. “They’ll be up and moving again soon; let’s go.”

“Right.” Fareeha looks up and leaps back into the sky. Angela’s wings flare as she follows.

“I’d say that’s been enough time. McCree?” Fareeha waits for a response. There is none. “I’ll assume that means you just can’t talk. We’re coming. ETA in 5 minutes.”

3 minutes later, McCree’s voice, tense and whispering, sounds in their ears. “Careful, they’re on high alert. They’ll light you up if you give them the chance.”

“We won’t give them the chance.” Fareeha replies cooly. “Any chance you could tell us how many are in the building?”

“A lot. Maybe a dozen. Maybe more. Be careful.”

“Good to know. Angela?”

“I’m here.” Angela’s voice is cool and smooth in her ear. “But I’m not liking that tone. You sound like you’re about to do something very stupid.”

“I’m not going to—I’m thinking about last resorts. The usual way should be enough, but if it’s not…”

“I’ll get you out,” is Angela’s simple, firm reply.

“...Of course.” Fareeha says. She clears her throat. “Coming up on the destination.” An old house emerges from the trees, dark save for a few pinpoints of light in the doorway.

“Watch the windows,” Angela murmurs.

“I know.” Fareeha considers the building. She’s not happy with how many options involve taking the fight inside. She circles the building, still a long ways away from it; too far to realistically shoot. Or get shot at. “We go up, cut the jets so they can’t see us as well, and clear the back entrance.”

Angela mutters her assent, and the two pull up, slowly rising above the north-eastern end of the building, the one furthest from the nearest road. Fareeha gauges the distance decides it’s enough, makes a few adjustments to her position, and cuts her jets. A second later, Angela follows suit. For a moment, everything is still and silent. Then, the stomach-turning drop and the deafening rush of wind. Angela grits her teeth.

Fareeha pulls up as late as she can without impacting the ground, jets suddenly flaring blindingly bright in the night. Angela’s light, softer and yellow, appears somewhere above her. The muzzles of multiple guns in the doorway glint in the glow. Fareeha fires. So do they.

One misses, whizzing past over Fareeha’s shoulder. One skims past much closer, but doesn’t quite impact; instead it chips some of the suit’s armor and disappears into the night. The third, similarly, doesn’t impact, but instead skims the helmet, carving a scratch into the visor. Fareeha feels the fourth in her side before the doorway erupts. She stumbles back, hand pressed to her side.

“I’m here.” In a heartbeat, Angela’s behind Fareeha, steadying her, and the stream of light produced by her staff finds its way to Fareeha’s side. “You’re alright.”

“Thanks.” Fareeha hisses, drawing a strained breath through clenched teeth. Already, the pain is ebbing. The tension in her muscles relaxes. “Thank you,” she says again.

Angela doesn’t reply, instead looking towards the charred, splintered doorway. No movement. Her expression is unreadable. At last, Angela speaks, low and quiet. “I suspect there are a lot of eyes trained on that door now.”

Fareeha nods, anxiously looking Angela over. “Less eyes looking anywhere else.”

“If you’re going to propose going through a window, I’d have to disagree. The risk of the glass shattering and the small space to fit through makes it too dangerous.”

“It’s either the windows or the doors. They’re not going to come out into the open.”

“You don’t know what exactly is in there. There might not be enough room to move around.” Angela gestures into the darkness, hushed murmur turning into a sharp whisper. “There are a lot of people in there besides; you can’t clear them all out without risking bringing the entire building down on top of us.”

“The one over the door here is more than large enough, and looks to be fairly new. That glass is strong; it’s more likely to just pop out of the frame. I brought concussive charges along; if I place them correctly it should be able to knock people around and take them out of action for a little bit. That door’s a death trap. We have no choice.”

Angela curses under her breath. “Fine. But go through the skylight. There isn’t a frame; the single pane is larger than the ones up there.” She nods at the large window above the door.

“Good call.” Fareeha breathes a private sigh of relief. Angela steps back and the jets fire again, pushing Fareeha back into the air. Angela lets her a up to the height of the roof before following. They gain a bit more altitude beyond that before Fareeha begins to hover over the skylight.

“Careful,” Angela says. The opening, while indeed larger than the window panes, is still small.

“Don’t worry about it.” Fareeha says, immediately before dropping straight down. Thankfully, she hits her mark dead center, and the suit absorbs most of the impact. As predicted, the pane of glass pops out of its place instead of shattering, falling down to the floor below. Fareeha carries her momentum into the building and takes in the scene. A sleek white walkway wraps around the large room, making for an almost second floor, giving marksmen access to the windows. She notices faintly glowing scopes in a few of the windows. Fareeha whirls and tackles the unfortunate, surprised person nearest to her, in the same motion firing a concussive rocket towards the opposite side of the room, knocking several people away from their perches. A few of them tumble over the side of the walkway, not managing to catch themselves on the railings in the sudden force, and fall all the way to the ground below. One window blows out completely.

Fareeha curses to herself, swings around, and fires another rocket towards the other end of the walkway. She lowers her head, tucking her visor down further over her face to shield herself from the hot blast of air, shrapnel, and light. At this range, the earplugs just barely suppress the sound.

“Behind you!” Fareeha just barely makes out Angela through the corner of her vision, accompanied by the distinctive sound of energy rounds being fired. Her heart leaps into her throat, and she whirls around, just in time to see Angela reload her pistol with a few clicks and whirls of light. She looks over her shoulder and catches Fareeha staring. She frowns and looks down at her gun. “What?”

“I didn’t think that you would…” She shakes her head. “Nevermind, get down.” As if on queue, a bullet slams into the wall with a _crack_.

Angela ducks against a crate that had been used presumably as a seat to shoot out the window from. She throws her shoulder against it and pushes it closer to the railing to give herself a little bit more cover. Fareeha joins her, huddling grimly behind the altogether too flimsy wood as the smoke clears.

“I use non-lethal rounds. I would have to try quite hard to kill anyone.” Angela says.

“I figured as much.” Fareeha peeks out from behind the box and immediately withdraws as a shot whizzes by her head. She growls in frustration. “We’re pinned down. We need to get a clear shot onto the ground.”

“We need to figure it out fast; this box isn’t going to hold for much longer; it’s a miracle it’s lasted this long in the first place.” Just as Angela finishes saying this, then immediately ducks, pressing herself closer to the ground. Fareeha follows suit as a bullet punches clean through the crate.

“Angela, get ready.” Fareeha grips her rocket launcher tighter.

“What?” Angela looks up. “You’re not going to—”

“I’m going.” Fareeha peeks out from behind the crate again.

“You absolutely are n—” Angela breaks off as something new appears in the chaos. An oddly muted, dull explosion sound and a wash of light. _Purple_ light. Angela curses. “It would have been too much to ask her to keep her promise, wouldn’t it?”

“Wait.” Fareeha cocks her head, and she hears voices through the chaos. “I don’t think that’s who you think it is.”

“Then wh—” Angela breaks off again as a beam of bright light slices through the darkness, accompanied by shouts and swearing. It leaves a smell of ozone in the air.

Fareeha waits a bit longer, then stands up and turns, looking over and down to the floor below. She spies movement and the flash of a gun in the far corner. One rocket is enough to send the ones remaining on their feet scattering through the back door.

From the front door, another beam of energy cleaves through a stack of sandbags. Fareeha follows it to its source. The massive cannon of a weapon lifts into the air, its recharging mechanism whirring with the movement, gathering and recycling energy from the air. Aleksandra Zaryanova looks up at Fareeha. “I came to help.” She says, simply.

Fareeha nods. “We’re grateful. But I thought you were leaving town? How did you end up here?”

Zarya shrugs. “I figure I have enough time to do good while I am here. And you are not hard to track,” she says, gesturing around at the destruction.

“You have excellent timing.” Fareeha nods again. Her eyes turn to another door in the far wall. “Angela.” She calls over her shoulder.

“Right here.” Angela appears at the railing, glances at Zarya, then follows Fareeha’s eyes to the door.

“That door down there; according to the blueprints, it’s the only entrance or exit into that room, right?”

“It should be, but there seems to have been a bit of remodelling done around here.” Angela frowns. “We didn’t see the other side.”

“That’s what I’m thinking as well. Watch my back?”

“Of course.” The stress and soreness that Fareeha didn’t even know was there melts away as the warm liquid light of the staff suffuses her body. A shiver runs down her spine and she sighs.

Zarya gives the staff a curious glance, but nothing more. She turns away. “I will watch the entrance.”

Fareeha places her hand on the door’s smooth handle, idly noticing the dried blood on her fingers. She takes a breath, turns the handle, and slowly pushes the door open.

The room beyond is small and dark. Black shapes, likely more piled boxes and bags loom out of the darkness. A quiet squeak reaches Fareeha’s ears; she immediately turns to its source, reaches out, grabs the barrel of a gun, an jerks it up, its bullet digging a hole in the ceiling. The flash of the shot briefly illuminates a young, pallid face. He yelps as Fareeha rips the gun from his hands, flips it around, and hands it to Angela.

“Holy f—I don’t—I didn’t—” There’s a general ruckus as the man, barely even a teenager, scrambles back, crashing into and knocking over several piles.

Fareeha reaches out to her side and flips the light switch. For the first time in the night, indoor lighting floods the small space, forcing everyone to blink and squint. The man is on the floor, wearing a ragtag, patched-together outfit with a yellow bandana pulled down around his neck. The edges of the Deadlock skull can just barely be seen in its folds. Both Fareeha and Angela look down at him.

“I—Aw geez, I don’t want to die.” His voice shakes almost as much as he does.

“You shot at me,” Fareeha says, calmly.

“I didn’t—I thought… I mean I… sorry? I’m sorry that was an uh… instinct.”

Angela’s eyes flick over to Fareeha. She doesn’t say anything, but her fingers tighten their grip on her staff. Fareeha, feeling her gaze on the back of her neck, sighs. “What were you doing in here.”

“I was… I was uh… I heard the alarm and… Oh geez, I don’t want to die.”

Fareeha rolls her eyes. “So you’re just a coward.” When she doesn’t get a reply, she shakes her head. “Get out of here.”

“Th—Thank you kindly.” He scrambles to his feet and bolts for the door.

As the man passes by, Fareeha’s hand darts out and grabs him by the scruff. He squeaks as she hauls him into the air and growls in his ear. “If you cause any trouble… we won’t be so kind next time.”

“I understand completely ma’am.” Angela glances sympathetically at the nervous twitch and shake of his fingers.

“Good.” Fareeha sets him back down again. “Spread it to any of your friends that made it out.” She pats him on the head. “And don’t forget it.”

“Right! Right! I’ll remember I promise I’ll go legit I promise!” He calls as he bolts out the door, almost tripping in surprise and fresh terror as he passes Zarya. She merely watches him go.

“He’s probably going to go straight back to Deadlock,” Fareeha grumbles. “Up the road and into the Gorge.”

“Well, at least he has a second chance,” Angela murmurs. She pushes past Fareeha and begins to inspect the room. “Let’s see… food, water, ammunition…” She frowns at the last one, but it’s not unexpected.

“He weighed half as much as I thought he would,” Fareeha says, still looking towards the door where the man had already disappeared from view.

“Young and thin. People with nowhere else to go.” Angela pries open another crate. She wrinkles her nose at the contents.

“The group itself is fairly wealthy,” Fareeha comments. She turns, moves into the room, and begins to help Angela search it. “Then again, the group itself doesn’t care about the people at its fringe.”

Angela nods, eyes shadowed. “Not even the ones charged with handling something as important as this.”

“We haven’t seen _her_ around.” Fareeha opens a barrel in the back corner. Gunpowder. She carefully replaces the lid, now very glad that things worked out with minimal firearm usage. “It’s possible the important people have been pulled out.”

“Talon and Deadlock seem to be holding each other at arm’s length at best. I somehow doubt _all_ the higher ranked people left.” Angela opens the last unchecked crate. Canned food. “The room’s clear.”

Fareeha nods and stands back. “We could have asked… Nevermind, everyone’s long gone by now.”

“Everyone that was in the house,” Angela corrects her. “We don’t know if anyone in the woods, or the cellar, for that matter, is planning on trying to come in.”

Fareeha shrugs. “The worst is over. Let’s keep an eye out from the second floor.” She looks over towards the front door at Zarya. “If you have the time to stay, we’d appreciate your assistance keeping this place locked down.”

Zarya shrugs. “It is not a problem.”

Fareeha dips her head in acknowledgement, steps further into the open, and, with a gentle, low power burst of the thrusters, hops back up to the walkway. She takes note of the trap door in the far left corner that leads down into the cellar: the main storage space of this particular base. A moment later, Angela joins her. Angela presses a finger to her ear. “McCree, the house is cleared for now. We’re watching for you.” She waits for a reply.

It takes a few minutes. “Yep, that’s great. Hold on, there’s a bit… tension down here. I’m trying to get everyone out before I try to start a fight; don’t like not having a few feet of concrete between ol’ Peacekeeper and a massive military grade bomb.”

“That’s reasonable,” Angela replies, before settling down to wait. The night falls into a tense silence broken only by the sound of the back door frame collapsing. All three women immediately turn to focus on the source, but quickly look away again.

“Alright.” McCree’s voice suddenly comes through the comms. “They’re moving. Sounds like the plan is to leave out the other exit and catch y’all off guard. That exit opens up closer to the front entrance of the house, but I don’t know if they’ll circle around. I’m staying down here; taking the opportunity to get closer to and inspect that bomb and all. I’ll join you up top once I’m done.”

“Roger that.” Fareeha calls down to Zarya. “McCree says to expect hostiles incoming.”

She grunts in acknowledgement. “Form where?”

“From one of the doors, presumably. They’ll be coming from the front but may circle around to the back.”

“Good to know.” The massive laser cannon hefts again, its mechanisms warming up. Fareeha notices that nodes on her back also begin to give off a faint glow, as if warming up in response. They settle down again.

It’s long enough for Fareeha to reload her rockets and quickly check over her equipment, but the wait, all things considered, isn’t too long. The moon, now directly above in the sky, gives them the first warning. The barest movement of a shadow, flitting around the front entrance, slightly too unnatural to be a tree or a bird.

Angela whispers, barely audible. “I’ll keep an eye on the back entrance.” Fareeha doesn’t reply; she just nods slightly.

These people are a little more well-coordinated than the ones previous. They’re quieter and faster as well. Fareeha sees 6 people suddenly rush in through the front entrance, and at the same time Angela shouts a warning. They moved in simultaneously from both sides. Fareeha focuses on the front door, but hesitates as she sees Zarya standing so close.

Zarya, evidently guessing at Fareeha’s hesitation, shouts. “Shoot! Do not worry about me.” As she says this, a sudden pink-purple, spherical shield encompasses her and she swings out of her cover, bullets being harmlessly absorbed. Her beam lances out, and Fareeha swears it’s a bit more intense than before. She doesn’t dwell on it; instead firing a rocket into the knot of people at the door, at about the same time that she notices the new aura of electric blue enveloping her. It tingles, but it’s not unpleasant.

The people at the door scatter. Three go down immediately, another one is caught by a well-placed explosive charge from Zarya’s end, and Fareeha finds two more. She feels… alert. Invigorated. She turns, both confirming that the light originates from Angela’s staff, and getting a read on the situation on the other side of the room.

Angela, wings flared to keep her in the air, has one hand on her staff and one on her blaster, firing rapidly at the 7 others that had spilled in through what remained of the back entrance. One gets thrown backward from the force of catching one of Angela’s shots in the chest. The others find what cover they can and begin to take aim.

“Admittedly,” Angela says through gritted teeth, “Non-lethal shots don’t have the best stopping power.”

“Get behind me.” Fareeha drops a few feet and fires another rocket. There’s some shouting. Angela, almost reluctantly, dives behind Fareeha, the light fading from blue to yellow in preparation for the answering shots. Fareeha, also braces herself, but, much to her surprise, doesn’t feel a thing. She blinks at the translucent pink orb suddenly surrounding her, absorbing metal bullets and energy rounds alike.

“Down!” Fareeha uses the opportunity to drop to the ground, and place a concussive blast halfway between her and the enemy, both pushing herself backwards and into better cover and them out of their positions. Angela dives after her, coming to a rolling stop a little ways away.

Fareeha pauses to catch her breath, then nods at Zarya. “Thanks again.”

McCree’s voice cuts in. “Alright, I’m coming. Sounds like the trapdoor’s clear?”

“It is; they’ve moved up to the middle of the room. We’re at the entrance.” Angela looks over to Zarya. “McCree’s coming up through the trapdoor; try not to hit him.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry.” She swings out of her cover, and a new shield rises up around her, beam white-hot. After a few seconds, she ducks behind her cover again.

A shout cuts through the volley of gunfire. For a brief moment, sounds cease… and then start up again. Fareeha, having finished reloading her rocket launcher, peers over the top of the stack of sandbags she had been using as cover to see McCree, gun sounding, serape fluttering in the breeze generated by all the heat and movement. He flicks the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes a moment before pulling something from his belt and throwing it into the face of the nearest hostile; a Talon agent, judging by the uniform. The resulting flash of light is bright, even through Fareeha’s visor. Peacekeeper calls out again, and does not get an answer.

Zarya vaults her own cover, and slams her cannon into another Talon agent, the last Talon agent standing. Seeing this, the two remaining Deadlock members back off, clearly deciding that their last thread in this alliance has been severed, and bolt into the night.

McCree watches them go. “Well,” he steps forward, and nudges a body with his boot. “I’d say that was a fairly successful operation.” He looks Zarya up and down and holds out a hand. “Zaryanova, right?”

Angela catches the sound of wood creaking. “McCr—” Behind him, the trapdoor opens, and something gleams in the crack. The reports of multiple guns sound out as McCree turns, and his eyes widen. In a flash, 3 more people appear out of the trapdoor.

Both Fareeha and Zarya lunge forward. Two of them are thrown off their feet immediately by their combined blasts; the third, and omnic, manages to keep their footing, pistons working to maintain balance. Fareeha, suddenly too close to risk another rocket, chooses instead to swing her gun, hitting them squarely in the head. They hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, lights dimming.

“Stay with me.” The sound of Angela’s voice pulls Fareeha’s attention back. She turns and sees McCree crumpled on the floor, Angela kneeling at his side. Angela hisses. “You just had to go and jinx it, didn’t you?” Her staff glows insistently. She sets the staff down and presses her hands to his side and stomach. They come away crimson stained.

Fareeha is suddenly struggling to breathe. She slowly walks over, and stands at Angela’s side. She looks between Jesse and Angela, detecting the subtle, restrained panic in Angela’s movements. “You’ve always said your luck won’t run out,” Fareeha whispers, eyes fixed on McCree’s face. “Don’t you dare prove yourself wrong now.”

Angela doesn’t say anything, too focused on her work. She gives none of the usual reassurances. She doesn’t even talk to McCree anymore. Her hands moves quickly, finding her supplies, her eyes darting back and forth, the glow of the staff illuminating every detail. Despite her best efforts, it seems, the dark stains don’t stop spreading. McCree’s breathing is increasingly shallow.

Finally, Angela sits back, breathing heavily. “Angel—” Fareeha begins, glancing at McCree’s chest. It’s not moving.

“Get back.” Angela snaps.

“Wh—”

“Get back!” Fareeha doesn’t argue. She takes several steps back.

Angela’s hand shoots out, grabbing her staff. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them again, and in that moment, even though her eyes are reflecting the glow of her staff, Fareeha _swears_ that she can see a pinprick of golden fire in Angela’s eyes. Then, her wings flare, and her staff and the aura it casts around McCree expand into blindingly bright columns of light. Through squinted eyes, Fareeha just barely makes out Angela, light streaming out of the palm of one hand. She raises it ever so slowly, as if pulling against a great weight, and lifts it above her head, her headpiece a band of reflected light, and there’s a flash and Fareeha has to look away… and then darkness.

Fareeha blinks, the afterimage burning behind her eyelids as if she had just looked at the sun. Both the Valkyrie suit and the Caduceus staff have gone dark. It takes several long seconds before her eyes adjust to the darkness enough to see again. She looks around just in time to see Angela swaying on her feet. She collapses just as Fareeha rushes forward, just in time to catch her and lower her gently to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Fareeha murmurs, eyes worriedly checking Angela over. “What was that?”

Angela looks over to McCree. Apparently satisfied with what she sees, she sighs and closes her eyes. “Give me a minute.”

Zarya walks over and bends over McCree’s body. “He is alive,” she says, with a note of wonder in her voice. She touches his stomach, feeling around the still-wet bloodstains. “And with not a single open wound.” She looks up at Angela, then Fareeha.

Fareeha returns the look. Relief suddenly brings her to her knees. She sits down heavily next to Angela, all the adrenaline draining from her body. She says nothing, just takes a deep, shuddering breath, and sighs.

“I do not know of anyone,” Zarya says, eyes returning to McCree, “that can bring a dead man back to life.”

Angela cracks an eye open. “He wasn’t dead.” She closes her eye and leans her head against Fareeha’s shoulder. “Just very, very close.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Fareeha leans back, resting her head on Angela’s.

“I’m fine. It took a lot out of me. And the suit. And staff.” Angela sighs. “I overloaded it quite a bit. I’ll have to look it over and make sure I didn’t break anything. The whole procedure was very much a prototype. It needs a lot of refining.”

“Well, it worked.” Fareeha sighs as well. “I’m glad.”

Angela snorts. “As am I. He should be up in… a bit. If he tries to get up tell him I absolutely forbid it. I need a nap.”

“Angela, this is neither the time nor place to…” Fareeha trails off. “There she goes.”

“Give her 10, 20 minutes.” Zarya says, straightening. She looks around. “I would not begrudge her of that, after that display.” She looks over at Angela, still leaning on Fareeha’s shoulder. “I will go check the cellar.”

Fareeha is opens her mouth to protest, first at sending her alone into the cellar, and second at sending a non-Overwatch affiliated person into the cellar; she doesn’t quite know if there’s a potential for Zarya to uncover anything particularly sensitive or not, but she admits that someone has to go and someone has to stay and keep watch. She considers this, then closes her mouth and nods. “They do need their rest.”

Up above, the moon begins to slip slowly down the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most Mercy skins have no pockets and no conceivable places to put them, but Combat Medic clearly had pouches and I refuse to believe that Angela would ever downgrade like that so there are pockets somewhere on the Valkyrie suit. 
> 
> I call it... taking artistic license with the canon.


	32. Moonset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lull in all the chaos.

_“Kid’s got a hell of an eye.” He said._

_“Of course.” She snorted. “Mine always do.”_

 

* * *

 

“Mercy here.” Angela mutters, sprawled out on the floor. She covers her eyes with one hand and sighs. “Reporting in.”

“Doctor! Glad to hear from you.” As usual, Winston’s voice is laced with worry.

“Likewise, Winston.”

“Tell him we’re fine,” McCree calls, also laying flat down on his back. “Went off without a hitch.”

“That sounds worrying,” Winston says before Angela can speak.

“What, you can actually hear me?” McCree turns his head slightly, wincing.

“You’re loud.” Angela scowls. “Tone it down please, you’re giving me a migraine.”

“Oh uh, sure thing doc.” He falls silent.

Angela sighs again. “Anyways, we _are_ all fine, but… I think all of us need to sit down and have a long discussion when we get back. I don’t like how close of a call it was.”

Winston is silent for a long moment. “I see,” he finally manages.

“It would have been much worse if a certain Aleksandra Zaryanova had not shown up. Please pass our sincerest gratitude on to Russia.” Angela lifts her hand, cracks open an eye, and looks over towards the hatch. Zarya, emerging from the basement, gives her a nod of acknowledgement. “Let’s see… what else… We’ve successfully completed all mission objectives. I’ll get a proper, full length report to you as soon as I can. Oh, and I’d like to recall McCree back to the watchpoint. I don’t believe he is currently in any condition to continue operations out here.”

“I trust your judgement. I’ll make arrangements.” Winston pauses, considering his next words. At last, he simply says one thing. “Thank you.”

“Of course. We’ll keep you updated.” Angela closes the comm and her eyes once more. She hears some rustling nearby.

“Glad to see you’re both awake.” Angela blinks her eyes open to find Fareeha standing over her, trying and largely failing to keep the concern from showing on her face.

“I said so, didn’t I?” Angela turns her head to look at McCree, just in time to catch him looking away. She rubs her eyes. “How long has it been?”

“Only about half an hour.”

“That’s good.”

“We’ve already contacted law enforcement, though I suspect they were already on the way. They’ve been a bit delayed, waiting for reinforcements to arrest and confiscate all of this.” Fareeha looks around.

“Winston’s going to have a hell of a time smoothing this all over.” McCree props himself up onto one elbow and winces. “Glad they’re delayed; I’ve got time to do some more poking around.”

“You absolutely will not.” Angela scowls at him. “Lay back down.”

“But—”

“Jesse McCree, you were as close to death as a man could get and still come back. Under no uncertain terms are you to so much as get up and ruin my hard work.”

McCree opens his mouth, then closes it again and lays back down without a word. After several long minutes of deliberation, he speaks again. “Hey, Fareeha, can you come here for a second?”

Fareeha walks over and crouches down, somewhat stiffy by virtue of her suit. “Need something?”

“Yeah.” McCree’s voice lowers, his expression suddenly serious. “Look up there, at the walkway. What do you notice about it?”

Fareeha turns and looks, studying it for the first time. It’s made of square platforms, anchored to the wall and supported by jointed beams. Her thoughts leave her lips as soon as they come into her head. “It’s made primarily out of a white material with dark grey or black supports. It doesn’t look metallic; it could be painted, but…” She trails off and squints. “No noticeable scratches. Plastic? It didn’t seem like it when we were up there...”

“I don’t think it’s plastic either. Plastic still scratches, even if it’s harder to see. Got any fuel left?”

“It’s very efficient. I could go for a while yet.”

“Great. Mind hopping up there and pulling a piece off? The joints on the supports there look promising.”

Fareeha stands up and looks over. “Sorry Angela, this might be loud.”

Angela mumbles something in acknowledgement. Fareeha tries to take it easy on the jets, but the sound still fills the building. Angela rolls on to her side, an awkward maneuver with her wings, and curls up. Fareeha gives her an apologetic look, but between the darkness and the visor, she doubts Angela would have been able to see it even if she were looking. Fareeha turns her attention to the walkway, the curved tip of her helmet almost brushing against the bottom of a panel. Even her visor struggles to outline the details in the thick shadows gathered in the corners. Even so, the continued lack of scratches or chips... She cocks her head and reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around a smaller piece recessed around the back of the joint.

There’s more resistance than she expected, but with a more insistent tug and a bit of assistance from the jets, the piece gives. Underneath, a sliver of blue light is revealed. Fareeha peers at the light, then holds up the piece in her hand. It’s a crescent-shaped, black object, having no apparent use aside from covering up the light. The light itself is a thin line, glimmering in the seam between the two larger parts of the beam. Fareeha considers it, then flips the object in her hand and wedges it’s tip into the seam, curling it and trying to leverage it to pull up the small overhang that should allow all the pieces to slot together. She manages to tear a chip off, but instead of the expected crunching noise, there is only a quiet, barely audible crackle. As Fareeha watches, the chip of material wavers, dissolved into a glowing blue mesh, and dissipates. Where it had been, the damage is briefly outlined in jagged blue, before another, identical mesh is generated and the light coalesces to repair the beam.

Fareeha drops to the ground, crosses to McCree’s side, and wordlessly hands him the crescent-shaped piece. He accepts it and holds it up, turning it over and examining it in the faint light of the moon. “So,” he says at last, “what do you think?”

“That’s probably plastic.” Fareeha nods at McCree’s hands. “But most of the walkway is made of hard light.”

“So I figured.” McCree lowers the piece. “Almost didn’t notice in all the chaos. Took it for the sparks coming from bullet impacts at first. Still, hard light in itself doesn’t tell us a lot. Wonder where the generator is.”

“If it regenerates then it’s connected to the walkway in some way.” Fareeha stands up and looks around. “It has to be visible so it can be taken down if need be, probably in the middle for efficiency and to not overload any one part…”

Fareeha moves to the center of the room, eyes prying through the shadows around the center panel of the walkway on the right. The walks over, taking a closer look at its underside. “Ah.” It only takes her a few minutes. She flies upward, her fingers catching on a small latch. It swings open with a click, revealing a small white disc attached to the wall. A steady blue light shines from its center. Fareeha runs her fingers lightly around its edge, finding a small button. She hesitates, backs off, scans the walkway, and curses to herself.

Nearly twenty minutes later, after carefully moving all the boxes off of the platform, Fareeha returns to the disc and finds the button again. She presses it. The light slowly dims, and all around her the walkway dissolves into that blue mesh, and fades to nothing. Several pieces of plastic that had been covering up the seams drop to the ground with a clatter.

“Sounds like you got one!” McCree calls.

“I did.” Fareeha turns around. “The other one should be…” She crosses over to the other side of the room. “...here.” Another burst of jets, another click, another flicker of light, and the other walkway is gone. She turns on her heel, crosses back to McCree’s side, and shows him the two discs.

“Huh.” McCree reaches out a hand; Fareeha obligingly hands him one. He turns it over in his hands, carefully examining it. “Doesn’t look like there’s any logo or company name. Not even a visible model number.” He hands it back to Fareeha.

“There’s a lot of places where that information might be, but this is unusual.” Fareeha murmurs.

“I agree. I’m thinking we take both of them back to base and see if Winston can figure anything out.” McCree lowers his voice. “That means not telling anyone about it. Last I heard Winston was negotiating for permission to take some evidence back to analyze, but that kind of thing takes a long time and we can’t risk them saying no.”

“Relations are delicate enough as it is, and even if we find anything with this it won’t stand up as a valid reason to act further since we got it illegally. If we’re not careful and this comes to light…”

“If we don’t do it we’re going to stagnate,” Jesse growls. “We _need_ information on what we’re going up against if we want to beat it. And information’s been mighty scarce. I didn’t find much that we didn’t already know about Talon around here, and I’ve never seen Deadlock use hard light like this. For weapons and shields? Sure. But that’s very different from those platforms. If Talon’s involved in that equipment, it’s of major importance, you hear?”

Fareeha doesn’t say anything, but she knows he’s right. She straightens up and looks over at the hatch. “I have checked everything,” Zarya says, emerging from the hatch. She looks up at where the platforms used to be, then looks over at Fareeha and raises an eyebrow.

“They were hard light. Disappeared just now.” McCree, who had turned his head to look, pipes up before Fareeha can say a word. “Guess either the generators failed after all the commotion, or they were temporary.” Fareeha’s expression is stony and unreadable. Angela, a ways off, doesn’t comment either; she appears to have dozed off again.

Fareeha coughs and steps forward. “You don’t sound like you’ve found anything particularly interesting. We should start going back and recording everything. If you’re willing to stick around and help with that…”

“Very well.” Zarya shrugs, but her eyes linger on McCree. She turns, tugs open the hatch again, and descends back into the darkness.

Fareeha moves to follow, but hesitates and looks back.

“Don’t worry about us.” McCree waves. “Still got Peacekeeper here, and as much as the doc’d rip me a new one for it, I can still put up a good fight if anyone comes sniffing around.” He turns his head and snorts. “She’s definitely asleep if she’s not scolding me for saying that.”

Fareeha lingers for a moment longer, eyes shifting to Angela. Then, she nods and slips down the hatch.

“...sounds good. Has that been passed on to… alright…” When Fareeha emerges again, she finds Angela awake once more, still curled up on the ground, one finger pressed to her ear. She looks over her shoulder as Fareeha emerges. “I’ll let them know.” She lifts her finger from her ear.

“Winston?”

“Indeed. We should be expecting company here soon. He’s gotten permission to send a carrier into the airspace, so Lena should be on her way. Unburdened and at top speed, she’ll be here before noon. So we have some time to sort everything out.” Angela blinks her eyes wearily.

“And all the cargo?” McCree nods at the crates and sacks scattered throughout the room.

“It’s going to be temporarily turned over to be held by the government here while they decide what to do about it.”

“Hm.” McCree doesn’t sound pleased by the notion. “Forgive me if I don’t entirely put too much stock in the government here.”

“We’ll just have to see what happens.” Angela says. She goes to sit up, but sways and lays back down again, eyes pressed shut. “That’s an,” she gasps, “unexpected side effect.”

Fareeha, who had lunged forward slightly, slows her pace as she walks over to Angela’s side. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I think I should just wait it out.” Angela replies. “Food and water, maybe… but that goes for all of us after that much excitement.”

Fareeha snorts. “‘Excitement’ is an understatement.” She looks around, noting how the sky in the east has begun to lighten ever so slightly. “Then there’s nothing left to do but wait.”

 

* * *

 

The sky is filled with stripes of pink and purple when McCree sits up, promptly earning him a death glare from Angela. He raises his hands. “Honestly doc, I feel fine. I just gotta… you know, use the outhouse. Don’t reckon I should really stick around anyways; never had a good relationship with the law in these parts.”

“As part of the Overwatch deal you were pardoned from all previous crimes.” Angela crosses her arms, again, an awkward maneuver when lying on her side.

“Yeah, well, they don’t like me and they’ll figure out some way to detain me.”

“You know how suspicious that is, right?” Fareeha adds.

McCree sighs. “At least let me go to the bathroom in peace.”

Fareeha shrugs. Angela, much more begrudgingly, finally sighs and nods. McCree, looking quite relieved, clambers to his feet, takes a moment to make sure he’s steady, and then hurries away.

 

The figure might have been mistaken for a rock by a less observant eye. It waits in the shadow of a particularly large boulder, just barely illuminated by the sunrise filtering weakly through the trees. It shifts, and a glimmer of blue peers out from the folds as McCree approaches.

His footsteps slow as he draws near, and he raises a hand in greeting. “Mornin’.”

“Always get caught in messy jobs, don’t you kid?” The voice is rough and grating, seeping from behind a nearby tree.

McCree waves a hand. “Kept my word, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t doubt that you would.” The figure stirs, her voice is soft and firm and rich with age. “But I didn’t think that it would have been necessary to ask you to take care of yourself as well.”

“Well,” McCree shrugs. “Even I make mistakes sometimes.”

The voice from behind the tree snorts. “Sometimes.”

“Cool it.” The figure under the boulder turns to the tree, and manages to give it a very stern look for something which lacks a face. “Still, we were close to intervening.”

“You couldn’t have done anything at the end there anyways,” McCree says. “That was all up to the good doctor. She hasn’t always been able to do that, has she?”

“She has always been interested in the concept, and developed similar tools in the past, but no. As far as I know, that is the first time she’s used a… procedure like that at that level.” A sigh. “But perhaps I should not be surprised. Dr. Ziegler is and always has been a bit of a miracle worker.”

“That I know.” McCree glances over his shoulder through the trees, back in the direction of the house. “That I know very well.”

The figure chuckles dryly. “I should hope so, after that display.” A gloved hand appears from the darkness, holding a folded, slightly weathered piece of paper. “Here. Give this to her after she’s had a chance to rest.”

McCree sighs, but accepts the paper and tucks it away. “You aren’t going to do it yourself?”

The figure shakes her head. “...No. She has too much to worry about right now. And we have lingered here long enough.”

“Huh. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were…” McCree trails off.

“I was _what_ , Jesse?” There’s only tense silence in response. “Don’t think that I stay away for lack of wanting to speak to her, or for fear of confronting all the years that have gone by.” Bitterness begins to creep into her voice.

“I know. I didn’t mean to imply that—” McCree cuts himself off and shakes his head. “My apologies. I’ll deliver the note when the time is right. Good luck.”

The figure sighs. “We don’t need luck. But thank you, McCree.”

Some of the tension eases out of McCree’s shoulders. “Everyone could use some luck, no matter how skilled. But I guess I can’t really lecture you of all people, can I?” He dips his head. “Take care… captain.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re here t—wow.” Lena appears in the doorway, much to the surprise and disgruntlement of the variety of law enforcement officials inside. She ignores them, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the debris, dents, scratches, and scorch marks all over the inside of the building. “You uh, had a bit of a night huh?”

“You could say that.” Fareeha, who had sat down against a wall, and Angela, who had gotten up just long enough to nestle up against her side, both look up and give Lena a weary nod of acknowledgement.

“Okay, well, good thing I brought help!” Lena jerks a thumb over her shoulder, the morning sunlight glinting off her earrings.

Lúcio pokes his head into the doorway and waves. “Hey!” He squints at Angela. “You don’t… look so good. Let’s get you back to the ship.”

Angela smiles, apparently endeared at the role reversal. Before she can speak, Fareeha cuts in. “Just point us in the right direction. There’s a few other things that need to be done and I think you two would be better suited for it than either of us at the moment.”

“Yeah? Alright then.” Lena backs out of the doorway.

Fareeha stands up. “Can y—” Angela begins, right before Fareeha bends down and picks her up. “Oh.” She takes a few slow, deep breaths, telling herself to relax, to stop blushing. “I can walk, you know,” she finally mumbles.

“Not very far, in your state.” Fareeha replies.

“But—”

“You said it yourself; you need rest.”

“I’ve gotten rest. It’s been hours!”

“Listen.” Fareeha’s voice is low and quiet. “I’ve been… I want to help. Please. Let me do this at least.”

Angela makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat, and only manages as weak “O-oh. Okay.”

Fareeha takes a moment to adjust her grip, mainly trying to figure out how to work around the wings on Angela’s suit, even as folded and tucked close as they are. Then, she heads towards Lena at the door, stepping into the sun. As she passes, Lena’s eyes are almost as bright as her grin.

Lena points down the slope. “Find the road, follow it up the other side of the ridge there; and then there’s a little path on the right-hand side that leads to a clearing that…” She pauses. “You sure you can get there alright by yourself? What else do you need done?”

“Get and return the car, primarily.” Fareeha looks around, careful of anyone else within earshot. “Though I’m not actually sure where Jesse got it.”

“Huh. I’m assuming there are things inside?”

“Yes. Everything that we don’t have on us right now, actually. Nothing critically important, but it’d be good to recover it. The cases for the equipment especially. Otherwise, we wrapped up any potential loose ends yesterday, so that should be all.”

“Alright, seems easy enough.” Lena shrugs. “Don’t suppose we can just… leave it in the woods, can we? We’d have to turn it over otherwise and if we’re not sure if it’s stolen or not…”

“I can’t explicitly condone it,” Fareeha says lightly.

“I didn’t hear a no!” Lena leans back and raises her voice, looking over to Lúcio, who had been standing nearby trying and failing to hide his curiosity. “Can you run these two down to the ship? I got some chores to do.”

“Oh yeah, no problem!” Lúcio pulls his headphones up from around his neck. He turns to Fareeha. “You haven’t worked with me that much, right? This might be a little...you know, unusual.”

“Unusual.” Fareeha gives him a look.

“I’ll hold off until we get out of the trees, but sometimes people don’t adjust as much as they should when the music kicks in.”

“The music..?” Fareeha furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see!” Lúcio turns and begins to make his way down the slope, taking a small, informal trail worn into the undergrowth.

“Ah, you’re in good hands.” Lena pats Fareeha on the back. “Gave me the fastest jog I’ve had in a long, long time and that’s saying something! So where do you need me to go again?”

Fareeha nods to her right. “Up there, not too far off the road either, actually. As close as we could manage to the ridge.”

“Easy enough. I’ll see you back at the ship then.” Lena nods, flicks her fingers in a cheerful half-salute, and darts off into the woods.

“She’ll beat us back at this rate.” Lúcio waves Fareeha along the path to the road. “Come on!”

Fareeha, for her part, just sighs and follows, somehow keeping her weariness at bay.

As soon as they reach the relatively flat dirt road, Lúcio claps his hands together and grins. “Alright! Let’s go! Just take it easy at first until you get used to it.” He puts his headphones on as soon as he finishes saying this, turns a dial on them, and darts up the road.

“W…” Fareeha has to take a moment to process that she is somehow managing to keep up. In her arms, Angela smiles.

“They did mention this in his file,” she says, just loud enough to hear. She laughs to herself. “I’m amazed it’s taken this long to see it firsthand though.”

It cuts the journey down to around fifteen minutes. As Fareeha emerges from the trees into a large clearing, taking it the small carrier ship settled in its center, Lúcio turns his dial again and takes off his headphones. Fareeha staggers slightly, suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue as the music that she hadn’t even realized was there fades. The door into the ship lights up and opens, and she hurries inside, sets Angela down, and sits down herself, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Sorry, you might feel slow after that.” Lúcio follows them into the ship.

Fareeha looks over. “Leave the door open, in case McCree decides to show up.”

“Oh, right.” He leans over and presses a button, and the door, which had been slowly closing, halts and begins to open again. Lúcio himself makes his way over to Angela and Fareeha, unhooks his curious, very uniquely-shapes gun from his belt, and fiddles around with it. A moment later, it lights up yellow, the same yellow of Angela’s staff, and the music is back. Different, certainly, but equally faint and unobtrusive on the ears. He also takes off his backpack, connected to the gun by a tube or wire, and sets it down next to the gun.

Angela reaches over and gives Fareeha’s hand a squeeze. “Really… you didn't have to do that. You’re tired too, I know.”

Fareeha snorts. “Carrying a person for fifteen minutes is easy enough.”

Angela laughs. “Even so! Thank you. You’ve done a lot in the past 24 hours. More than you give yourself credit for.”

Fareeha closes her eyes and doesn’t reply, but she dips her head slightly in acknowledgement. The music is good. Relaxing.

Angela turns towards the gun and leans forward, interest glimmering in her eyes. “I’ve heard of this, but to see it in action!” She half reaches out, as if to touch it, but withdraws her hand and settles down.

“You’ve heard of it?” Lúcio perks up, a tinge of surprise in his voice.

“Of course! It’s certainly a novel way to heal. Especially when other methods might be more difficult, such as when one is in the field. I can only imagine what that could do, if the range was ever expanded. In rescue situations, for example, when one might not be able to see or quickly get close enough…”

“...But still close enough to hear.” Lúcio smiles and looks down at the gadget. “I think my father would be glad to hear that.”

Angela becomes a bit more sombre as she hears this, and sits back. Her wings, which had flared out a bit in her excitement, resettle, their various “feather” parts stacking back together and pulling closer to Angela’s body. A subdued, but not entirely uncomfortable quiet settles. Lúcio produces another headset and puts it on, tapping his foot and occasionally humming to himself.

McCree slinks in some time later, like a stray cat off the street. Fareeha merely opens an eye to watch him enter, but doesn’t say anything. Lúcio perks up and pats the seat nearest to him, nodding at the set up in the middle of the floor. He takes off his headphones as McCree sits down. “It’s been a while!”

“Sure has.” McCree sighs, takes his hat off, and combs his fingers through his hair. He brightens up. “Got any new songs in the works?”

“Yeah! Hold on.” Lúcio fishes around in his pockets. “You want to listen?”

“Sure.”

“Tell me what you think.” He hands over the headphones.

McCree closes his eyes and listens intently. After a few moments, he opens his eye and pulls one cup form his ear. “Huh.”

Lúcio frowns. “Is that a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?”

“Good.” McCree grins and hands the headphones back. “You ever do any country music?”

Lúcio looks both offended and incredulous. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“Aw, forget it.” McCree sits back.

“Sorry cowboy.” Lúcio smiles and pats him on the back, realizing he wasn’t actually joking. “I don’t do country.”

“Don’t worry about it,” McCree says. “I was only half serious. You’ve got good music. Anywhere I can find more of it?”

Lúcio perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! Let me show you…”

Angela watches as the two huddle together, staring intently at something on a screen that Lúcio produces out of another of his pockets. As Lúcio begins to point and explain it all to McCree, Angela turns to Fareeha and leans in closer, her voice quiet. “Can we talk, or would you rather rest right now?”

“Hm?” Fareeha looks over. “Oh, sure. Did you…” She trails off, quietly remembering everything that Angela could possibly want to talk about.

Angela throws another glance at Lúcio and McCree. Still busy, now talking animatedly about something. Chords, she thinks. Her eyes slide back to Fareeha, studying her expression. The silence gets just long enough to be awkward.

“I…” Fareeha clears her throat. “I tried not to…” For the first time in a long time, the words catch in her throat. She can feel Angela’s eyes on her. She tries again. “I tried to minimize… injuries and… casualties.”

“I know,” Angela murmurs. “It had to be done.” She reaches over to Fareeha’s helmet, sitting on the ground, and gently runs a finger over the long scratch in the visor. _Too close._ “They probably would have killed us both otherwise.”

A mixture of both relief and regret washes over Fareeha. Relief, that Angela understood, perhaps more than she had given her credit for. Fareeha needs to remind herself about how long Angela has been working on the front lines. Regret, too, at the resigned tone in Angela’s voice when she said “It had to be done.” Perhaps they could have negotiated. Tried for a more peaceful solution. But a voice whispers in the back of Fareeha’s head. She knows Jesse. She knows he tries to avoid violence. She knows they would have never been able to convince both Deadlock and Talon to comply, and that time was running out with a bomb of that scale changing hands. She knows there was no other way. With these sorts of missions there rarely is.

It feels like giving up. It reminds her of the way her mother used to talk when she came home from a mission. Of the marks on her guns, and the way she used to look at them. It feels, to Fareeha, like all the conversations she had with herself before she committed to her path in life.

“There’s a fine line,” Angela says, “between justice and cruelty.” She pauses. “I trust you wholeheartedly to know where that is.”

“I’m glad you think so highly of me,” is all Fareeha can say in reply.

“If my good faith means anything to you, then you deserve all that and more.” Angela sighs. “I meant what I said, you know. About everything that you’ve done. Your presence alone was a great… help.” Her voice wavers at the end and she coughs, suddenly bashful. “A-anyways, I just wanted to say that. Sorry for bothering you.”

Despite everything, Fareeha still feels a smile flit across her face. “You’re never a bother.”

“You’re going to regret saying that,” Angela mumbles.

Fareeha’s smile returns, brighter this time. “And why do you say that?”

Angela’s reply is cut off by Lena’s sudden appearance at the ship’s door. “Sorry I’m late!” She turns, and with surprising strength and accuracy, tosses a few bags over to the four sitting around Lúcio’s amplifier. “Tried to fit as many things inside of each other as I could.”

“Huh.” McCree eyes the pile. “I had given up on seeing that ever again.” He nods at Lena. “How are you doing, by the way?”

“Oh, same as usual.” Lena flashes a grin. “If you want to check that, you know, make sure I didn’t miss anything, then we can get going! Get a proper meal, shower, and bed, eh?”

Fareeha groans. “A shower… sounds perfect right now.” She drags over one of the bags, opens it, and begins to rummage around. She produces the cases that held the suits and equipment with a sigh of relief, and quickly combs through the rest. McCree and Angela both check the others.

“Looks like you got everything,” McCree says. He quickly gets some affirming nods from Angela and Fareeha, and gives Lena a thumbs up.

“Brilliant!” Lena claps her hands together. “Let’s be on our way then!”

“Let’s,” Fareeha sighs. “Are my clothes in this one?” She grabs a bag and peers inside. “I need to change out of this.”

McCree raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you do that before? Doesn’t seem too comfortable to sit in.”

“I didn’t have a change of clothes.”

“Don’t you both wear, you know, a full body undersuit?”

Both Angela and Fareeha look down at themselves, then exchange looks.

McCree shakes his head. “And here I thought you were both supposed to be smart.”

“You’ve forgotten that you had a metal hand before,” Angela shoots back.  

McCree shrugs as if to say _“That’s fair.”_

Angela turns away and flicks something on her staff, its various parts fully deactivating for the first time since the mission began. A few pieces pull up to the shaft of the staff, slotting together neatly. She gets the wing parts and headgear off and packed away before stopping to close her eyes and massage her temples.

Fareeha changes out of her suit with the same speed and practiced ease that she changes into it. She pulls on the first things that she grabs, then sits down and begins the much more tedious process of checking and maintaining each and every piece of the Raptora suit. Angela, after taking her little break, does much the same.

With two suits, two guns, and one staff packed away only slightly less neatly than usual, Fareeha collapses back into her seat and finally lets the growing wave of exhaustion break over her. The last thing she remembers before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep is leaning on Angela’s shoulder, and Angela stiffening, relaxing, and leaning back.

Lena looks over her shoulder, casting a watchful eye over the inside of her ship. Lúcio sits with his back against a wall, nodding his head to whatever’s coming through his headphones. He doesn’t tap his foot or hum as a courtesy to the others. McCree, Fareeha, and Angela are all asleep, the previous night’s fatigue finally catching up to them. The last two lean against each other, curled up together and radiating comfort. Lena smiles knowingly, shakes her head, and returns her attention to the dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes one to know one, Lena. 
> 
> Speaking of her, I think some of you might be entertained to know that I spend almost as much time researching British slang for writing her as I do researching entirely different languages. What an astonishingly long list of... er, rude things to call someone! Unfortunately, I don't think she actually says anything similar to most of these outside of her punk/ultraviolet skins, making them potentially out of character, so I have to settle for just wondering at where half of these words and phrases even came from. The more I learn about any language or dialect, the more I feel like American English is remarkably tame.


	33. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Break", in that you can never catch one around here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get back to fluff. Mostly.

_ “Have you ever looked back on your life and—” _

_ “No! It does not do to dwell on the past and forget about—” _

_ “The present. Yeah yeah, you big oaf, she wasn’t talking to you.” _

_ “Oh don’t be so grumpy all the time. It’s as valid an answer as any.” _

_ “Hmph. Regardless, you had something to say.” _

_ “So I did. I often look back and think I’ve been lacking in many areas. But I suppose he is right. There’s no use dwelling on it.” She tapped the tabletop lightly with her fingers, drumming out a mindless beat. She sighed. “I merely hope I can make up for it, is what I was getting at.” _

_ He snorted. “If any of us can, it would be you.” _

_ “How wildly pessimistic you are. I rather think it’d be  _ you _ , of all people.” _

_ “Me, make up for my mistakes before the rest of you? A bleak day that will be.” Various chuckles reverberated through the room. _

 

* * *

 

“And welcome home.” McCree stands up and takes a moment to regain his balance. He peers out the window and smiles to himself. “Been a while.”

“Just in time too; we can’t have you wandering the streets in the middle of winter,” Angela comments.

“Huh. And here I’m remembering something you said about me having bad timing..?” McCree grins, scratches his beard, and saunters over to the door as the ship beings to make its slow descent onto the landing pad, aligning itself carefully with the guide rails.

“By the way Lena, I thought you were visiting Nepal?” Fareeha tilts her head.

“We just got back, actually. Zenny’s been really pensive lately, even more than usual I mean. You’ll notice if you talk to him. It was… an experience.” Lena shrugs, that kind of fast, casual movement of a person that’s less okay than they’re willing to let on.

Angela’s eyes narrow. She hesitates, then decides it’s neither the time nor place to press the matter. “You didn’t come back just for this, did you?”

“What else?” Lena laughs. “It’s not like we’ve got any other trained pilots around here.”

“Well, Athena…” Angela trails off.

“Yeah, I suppose she could do it, but from what I’ve gathered from Winston, she’s pretty preoccupied right now. I mean, she seems powerful enough to do a whole bunch of stuff at once, but she has her limits.” Lena shrugs again. “I uh… I don’t know if I’ll stick around for too long though. Em understands, of course, but I can tell she’s not happy.”

Angela offers her a little smile. “That’s certainly understandable.”

“I hate to take off again so quickly you know, but…” Lena shrugs. “We miss each other.”

“Lena, absolutely  _ no one _ would begrudge you for it.” Lúcio pipes up. Noting that everyone is awake, he resumes tapping his foot and humming scraps of song.

“Aw, but this old place feels real empty and cold this time of year, you know?”

“All the better reason to go home and keep your girlfriend company,” Fareeha says. “We’ll be fine.”

“Hmm…” Lena’s eyes wander over her, then flick over the others in the ship. “I don’t doubt it.”

The ship slides to a final halt, swallowed by the shadows of the hangar. McCree leans on the wall and watches as the door slowly unseals and begins to open. “We’ll send a postcard or something.”

Angela snorts. “You? Send postcards?”

“I said ‘we’.” McCree flashes a grin. “I’ll help decorate or something. Get some glitter, watch Winston have an aneurism over it, you know.”

Angela mutters something along the lines of “I sure hope not.” She clears her throat and raises her voice as McCree steps out of the carrier. “As long as you take it easy, I’m fine with you having a bit of free reign for now. Get yourself down to the medbay at…” She checks the time. “7:30 this evening, if you will.”

“Sure thing, doc.” McCree raises a hand in acknowledgement, throwing a casual wave over his shoulder. “See you then. I’ll let you know if I get any funny feelings before then.”

“‘Funny feelings’.” Angela shakes her head. “I suppose that’s one word to describe… ah, never mind.” Fareeha gives her a half amused, half pitying look.

“Oh! Speaking of which!” Lena spins around in her chair. “Lú!” Lúcio looks up, and she motions for him to take off his headphones. He turns them down and pulls them down to hang around his neck. “Remember that thing that you were talking to Zenny about?”

“Oh uh…” Lúcio, suddenly uncharacteristically abashed, coughs and averts his eyes. “Yeah.”

Lens cocks her head and frowns. “What’s up?”

“Nothing! I just…” Lúcio glances in Angela’s direction and makes a motion with his hands. “You know.”

Lena looks at Angela. Angela returns a puzzled look and a shrug. Lena looks back to Lúcio, astonishment filtering over her features and through her voice. “Wait a minute…” She reaches down, unbuckles her seatbelt, and darts over to Lúcio’s side. She pats him on the shoulder. “Are you embarrassed?”

“What? No! It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, it’s just…” He shrugs and rubs his neck, voice suddenly small. “I should probably follow up with him first you know? Like… don’t jump into the deep end when I barely know how to—listen, the metaphor isn't great but… you get it, right?” 

“The deep end? Are you saying—Angie’s not scary!” Lúcio winces at the volume of Lena’s voice. She ignores him and nods at Angela, now wearing an increasingly curious expression. “Zen’s been encouraging him to learn more first aid and such.”

Angela brightens immediately, turning her eyes to Lúcio. “Why didn’t you say so? I’d be glad to help out!”

“Well, I don’t really… I mean I've never had any real formal education in it. I learned to help patch people up when there was trouble on the streets, and there’s that,” he nods at the amplifier on the ground, “but that’s it. And you’re…” He trails off again.

“She’s not really the condescending expert type.” Fareeha says as she stands up and takes a long, luxurious stretch. “She only  _ occasionally  _ scolds people.”

Angela makes a small mournful noise at suddenly being robbed of both support and warmth by Fareeha moving, and even manages to frown for a moment before the amusement in her eyes gives her away. “I only do that when you people charge in. Frankly, the amount of common sense in this organization is astoundingly low.”

Fareeha gathers up her things off the floor and lets out a huff of laughter. “See? Just like that.” She begins to make her way to the door as well. “She’s not that mean, unless you start bugging her too early in the morning.” Angela makes a face at Fareeha’s back.

Lena pats Lúcio on the shoulder again. “Don’t be too shy about asking for help around here, alright? Think about it. If someone approached you asking you to teach them how to make music, even if they were just a beginner, you’d still be happy to teach them, right?”

“Yeah.” Lúcio clears his throat. “Sorry, it was just nerves.”

“In any case,” Angela gives him a patient smile as she says this, “I’m afraid I’ll be busy today, and likely will continue to be for the near future. Zenyatta is a good resource; I’ve been working with him for some time now, so he’s been building up some deeper knowledge about these things. Admittedly, some of his… methods are a mystery, even to me.” Angela shrugs. “Part of me wants to say that he has some sort of highly unique hardware, but he merely says that as long as it works, that’s what really matters in the end. Still, he could teach you a thing or two in the meantime.” 

“Thanks.” Lúcio hops to his feet, practically glowing with barely contained joy. “I’ll ask later if you’ve got any free time then?”

“Certainly.” Angela nods. “I’ll very likely be either in the medbay or the lab if you need anything. For now though…” She counts holds up three fingers and counts them off. “Food, shower, sleep.”

“You look like you need it.” Lena gives her a sympathetic look, turns around, and in two bounds is back up by the dashboard. She reaches over and taps a few things, and the faint humming that Angela hadn’t even realized was there dissipates. The sound of some mechanical parts moving around echoes in the hangar beyond.

Angela picks up her things and heads for the exit. She pauses at the door and looks back. “Thank you for coming to get us, by the way.”

“What, did you think we were going to just leave you there?” Lúcio laughs. “No need to thank us!”

Angela dips her head and descends the few steps to the hangar floor. She can still hear the clicks of the exhaust system cooling down, which she idly notes in her head. It takes her a moment to notice Fareeha standing a ways off, trying to look nonchalant.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” Angela hurries over.

Fareeha turns as Angela approaches and matches her pace as they walk towards the hall together. “It can’t hurt. Besides,” she shrugs, “good company is always nice.”

“Oh stop it.” Still, Angela chuckles. “What do you think? We can stop by our rooms and drop all this off, but get beaten to the food by McCree by a considerable margin, or we can hurry down to the mess hall but lug all this equipment around.”

Fareeha wrinkles her nose. “Former option.”

“Mm, probably the smarter one, isn’t it?”

“He doesn’t eat that much.”

“Oh I know, but we’re both obligated to tease him relentlessly. Everyone is, when he dresses like that.” 

Fareeha laughs at this. “That I know.” She hefts her bags. “But I find that the longer I carry something, the more irritable I get.”

“Fair enough.” 

The two fall silent for several minutes before Fareeha speaks again. She nods at a stairwell. “Yours first?”

“If you’re sure.” Angela looks further down the hall. “Isn’t yours closer?”

“We’ll have to stop by both of them eventually; we can just circle around.” Fareeha brushes lightly past and begins to climb.

Angela hesitates only a fraction of a moment longer and follows. 

At the far end of the hall, closest to the medbay is Angela’s room. Fareeha stops outside of it, studying the door while Angela catches up. It’s metal, painted white and gray just like the rest of the doors. A small black sign on it displays a faintly glowing name: “Dr. Angela Ziegler”. A light near the handle indicates it’s locked. There is nothing else to differentiate it.

“Let me get that.” Angela reaches for the handle. At her touch, the light turns green and the door unlocks itself. Angela’s fingers pause on the handle. “Ah… I’m not quite sure what state I left this place in.”

Fareeha snorts—a quick huff of amusement. “And after all the trouble I went to last time?”

“Apologies in advance.” Angela turns the handle and pushes the door open, blinking to adjust her eyes to the dark room. She runs her fingers along the wall and flips the light switch. “Not too bad, actually.” She steps inside.

Fareeha follows, stopping just inside the door. “Huh,” she says, looking around. “Look, you’ve got clear floor space this time.”

Angela gasps in mock offense and smacks her on the shoulder. “I’m not  _ that  _ bad!”

Fareeha chuckles. “Sure. Your poor desk, however…” 

Angela looks over, reaches out, and quickly straightens a particularly haphazard pile of papers. A pen falls out of the middle. “Ah, so that’s where it went,” she mumbles to herself. She looks up, catching Fareeha’s eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Fareeha raises her eyebrows and looks up, pointedly directing her gaze at the ceiling. “If you insist.”

“Let’s see… this can go here… and that’s… hmm…” Angela rearranges a few documents, shoves one into a drawer, and shakes her head. “Ah, I’ll figure it out later.” She sets everything down and heads for the door, grabbing Fareeha and tugging her by the elbow out into the hall. “Let’s go.”

“I’m downstairs, on the left coming from the medbay.” Fareeha bemusedly follows Angela, who sets a surprisingly brisk pace.

“I know. I think.” Angela pauses thoughtfully, almost causing Fareeha to run into her. She shrugs and continues walking.

The stairwell exits next to the elevator, down the hall from Angela’s office and the medbay. Angela glances at the doors as they walk by, but doesn’t stop. A right turn leads back into the agents’ quarters. Several of the doors in the hall are decorated, albeit sparsely. Angela takes a moment to glance at a few as she passes. McCree’s sports a few fading stickers, while Genji’s has a handful of magnets and a whiteboard upon which a peace sign has been drawn. Lena’s has a few small pictures taped next to her name tag, and a wreath of small blue flowers hung with a magnet. The hall branches off to her right again, a quick glance is enough to tell that both Hana and Lúcio’s rooms are down that way; both of their doors are decorated heavily with their signature colors and symbols.

“I thought we were the boring hall until I saw upstairs,” Fareeha comments. Angela jumps; she had almost forgotten that she was there.

“The only other people up there are Winston and Hanzo.” Angela’s tone gets a touch defensive.

Fareeha blinks. “Winston has a room?”

“My point exactly! And do you think Hanzo’s the kind of man that decorates?” Angela shakes her head.

“He  _ does _ have a tattoo. He can’t be entirely adverse to it.”

“Maybe the tattoo’s essential for…” Angela trails off and sighs. “We’re not having that debate again.”

“It’s hardly a debate, is it?” Fareeha tilts her head and motions towards her room. “I suppose if he did decorate, he’d probably keep it on the inside of the room,” she concedes.

“I would have said the same of you, but I guess not.” Angela looks Fareeha’s door up and down. It features only an enamel magnet of some sort of bird, and eagle, perhaps, swooping down over the nameplate. The nameplate itself, however, is blue—not painted, but rather from a case around the edges.

“Brigitte gave it to me,” Fareeha says, noticing Angela’s curious look. “I don’t know where she got it. She said something about ‘spare blue’ I think; maybe she made it out of scrap?”

“I see,” Angela says. “It’s nice.”

“I’ll pass that on to her.” Fareeha reaches out to open the door, unlocking it and pushing it open in one smooth motion. She flicks the light switch and steps inside. Angela follows her.

“It’s warmer in here,” Angela remarks. “Warmer than in my room, that is.”

Fareeha pauses and considers this. “You’re right.” She looks around. “Maybe the window gets more sun… but we’re both on the same side of the building. Odd.”

Angela shakes her head. “A state of the art facility, and we can’t even get even air conditioning.”

Fareeha hums some sort of agreement, then walks to the center of the room, looking around. Angela lingers near the door, but also looks around with interest.

It’s neat, but not spartan. The desk is cleared of all stray papers, with a file rack, pen holder, and laptop on one side and a small pile of books with a sticky note on top on the other. A small, dark blue rug has been placed on the floor roughly in the center of the room. A few posters adorn the walls, most of them slightly faded. As a finishing touch, there are a handful of potted plants scattered around the room: three small succulents on the windowsill, one slightly larger container with three stalks of bamboo in it, and a dark, leafy plant tucked up near the bed on the side closest to the window. Angela also notices what appear to be a handful of figurines arranged along the back edges of the desk and nightstand, but she merely grins and doesn’t comment on it.

Fareeha sets everything down carefully at the foot of her bed, and takes a few minutes to walk around and check everything. Seemingly satisfied, she returns to the door. She catches Angela’s eye and pauses, a frown crossing her face. “What?”

Angela’s grin widens. “You have a nice room,” she says. “I didn’t know you had houseplants!”

Fareeha moves back into the hall, Angela turning and following her. “I just think they’re…” She pauses, searching for a word. “...nice.”

“So they are,” Angela replies. “Where did they come from? You didn’t have them when you moved in, did you?”

“Well…” Fareeha makes a vague gesture and shrugs. “The little ones—the succulents that is—were given to me a few years ago. I’m still not entirely sure why, but they’re easy enough to take care of. I um… did get a little nervous about packing them up and bringing them all the way here, but they all survived the journey.” Fareeha clears her throat. “Anyways, the bamboo and the cast iron plant were joint gifts from Genji and Zenyatta; they both seemed to be pretty enthusiastic about it. I’ve been asking either them or Lúcio to water the plants while I’m gone.”

“Lúcio?” Angela cocks her head. “I suppose he’s been at the watchpoint more regularly than most of us.”

“Mm.” Fareeha inclines her head. “Zenyatta once suggested Bastion, since they’re here all the time, but it’s risky letting them indoors and I’m not inclined to move any of my plants outside, at least not until it gets warmer. Lúcio doesn’t mind anyways. I think he once mentioned to me that he might get some himself, actually.”

Angela chuckles. “Careful, you’ll have the whole watchpoint bringing home houseplants at this rate.”

“Speaking of which, I was going to say that you should really decorate your room.” Fareeha casts a casual look at Angela. “At the very least it might elevate it from just messy to charmingly cluttered.”

“I decorate! I have…” Angela searches for an example. “Rocks!”

“Rocks.” Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “Generally, the idea is to make the room  _ less _ depressing.” 

“They’re not depressing! They’re symbolic of… er…” Angela averts her gaze. “Maybe I do need to… furnish my room a bit more.” She sighs. “Perhaps it would encourage me to sleep in it more often.”

“That’s the spirit.” Fareeha shifts her attention away and nods at the mess hall door. “Almost there.”

A few minutes later, Fareeha pokes her head through the door, eyes settling on McCree, seated casually at one of the tables. “Jesse!” She calls, “What did they leave us?”

McCree takes a moment to chew thoughtfully. “Spaghetti.” He takes another moment before continuing. “Bread, some sort of salad, apple slices, and… it looked like yogurt. Like the little cup things. And all the usual things if you want to cook, of course.”

“I’ll take it.” Angela ducks under Fareeha’s arm and goes to inspect the contents of the fridge. Fareeha snorts and follows after her; picking up plates and utensils on the way.

Several minutes later, the two settle down next to McCree, who has mostly finished eating and is now nursing a tall glass of water. Noticing Angela’s curious but approving glance, McCree nods and lifts his glass. “Figured it’s better than coffee or scotch if I want a good nap  _ and  _ preserve my dignity.”

Angela merely inclines her head in reply. 

The rest of the quick meal passes in companionable silence. The three gather up their dishes, put them into the dishwasher, disperse to their respective rooms, and finally take some well-earned rest. Outside, the sun begins to slip down the pale winter sky. 

 

* * *

 

“You’re back!” Angela has only a moment’s warning before she’s enveloped in a crushing hug. Brigitte Lindholm knows her own strength, but sometimes fails to exercise restraint when she’s excited. This is one of those times.

“Glad to see you too, Brigitte.” Angela pats her on the back. “Ah, watch the ribs.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry!” Brigitte lets go and raises her hands apologetically. “It’s just been a while!”

“Oh leave her alone.” Torbjörn pushes past and pulls up a nearby chair. “Trapped with the cowboy for that long; she needs the peace and quiet.” Still, he strokes his beard and grumbles. “Welcome back.”

“Glad to be back.” Angela nods at him appreciatively. “Besides, it wasn’t that long.”

“What wasn’t that long now?” McCree appears in the door behind Angela, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Speak of the devil.” Torbjörn pulls something from his pocket and begins to fiddle with it, apparently done with the conversation.

“Please get out of the way.” Sayta’s voice sounds from behind McCree’s back. He looks around and steps aside; as soon as he does so she brushes past, making a beeline for the far back corner. She pauses only to give Angela a respectful nod.

“Huh.” McCree takes another few steps further into the room, clearing the doorway for anyone else behind him. He looks around, picks a spot a bit further away, and sits down to watch the room through half-lidded eyes.

Angela takes a seat as well, settling down to chat with Brigitte and watch the door. Genji and Zenyatta appear next, slipping in equally silently. They exchange some pleasantries with Angela, and then McCree, and then find a place in between the two to talk intermittently with either. Reinhardt is next, booming voice and personality filling the room. Torbjörn grumbles some more as Reinhardt sits down across from him and immediately joins Angela and Brigitte’s conversation. Fareeha trails after him, finds a seat on Angela’s other side, and aside from a few greetings, doesn’t say anything, electing to just listen. In one flash of light, Lena appears at the door, darts over, and finds a seat opposite Genji. Lúcio, almost as fast, follows, settling himself next to Genji. Winston is the last, ambling over to a spot at Lena’s elbow.

Angela looks up as he enters, giving him an apologetic look. “Oh, Winston, I sent you my report just now, I’m sorry for how late it is.”

“No no,” Winston waves one large hand. “Thank you. I’ll review it later.”

“Good luck with that.” McCree looks over his shoulder and squints at a tall bottle of liquor visible on the kitchen counter. “I need a drink.”

“Sounds like you have quite the story to tell!” Reinhardt grins. “Speaking of which, my diminutive friend, did you get any beer?”

Torbjörn growls some more. “Fridge.” As Reinhardt stands up, he raises his voice. “Get the food while you’re at it.”

“Wait.” Winston looks around, peering through his glasses. “Where’s Hana?”

“Oh, she said she needed to finish a stream.” Lúcio raises his hand. “She’ll get here later.”

“Ah, I see.” Winston nods. He looks to Genji. “I assume Hanzo continues to wish to eat alone?”

Genji sighs. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s alright.” Winston nods at Reinhardt. “Then it seems we’re all accounted for.”

“Wait, let me help with the food.” Brigitte stands up, pushing her chair back and hurrying to catch up to Reinhardt. “We might have overdone it a bit.”

“Overdo food? No such thing!” Still, Reinhardt seems to accept the help, and they duck into the kitchen together.

Brigitte reappears first with dishes and utensils, now that everyone’s been seated. She leaves two extra sets out, one for Hana and one for Hanzo, just in case either shows up. Then she rushes back into the kitchen and emerges alongside Reinhardt, both bearing pots and platters of food. They lay out a spread of mashed potatoes, bread, butter, baked salmon, sausage, shrimp, pickled beets and cucumber, fried onions with mushrooms in a creamy sauce, stewed beans and carrots, jam, a simple salad, and some peanut butter as a courtesy to Winston. Reinhardt makes another trip, and comes back with some cold bottles of beer, one bottle of wine, and one bottle of vodka. Brigitte rolls her eyes and goes to get water.

Fareeha surveys the scene and a small grin touches her lips. “At least some of us are good at cooking.”

“I’m glad you think so!” Brigitte sits back down and lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Though, just between you and me, we had to ask  _ mamma  _ for help more than once.”

“They are trying to one-up the rest of us, you see, by both making a lot of food, making it relatively well, having that food reference their nationality,  _ and _ providing drinks,” Reinhardt also leans in and “whispers” rather loudly. 

Brigitte shrugs as if to say “that’s more or less correct.”

“I’ll gladly acknowledge culinary superiority here.” Fareeha turns her head to address Angela, but stops, puzzled.

Angela stares intently at the vodka; the emotion on her face can only be described as “complex”. Largely, she looks at it as if it were her worst enemy. Regret, hostility, sardonic amusement, and a hint of interest war with each other in her eyes. She suddenly starts, as if snapping out of a trance. “Sorry,” she looks around. “What? Were you talking to me?”

“Just making sure you’re alright.” Fareeha turns her attention back to her food. “You seemed out of it.”

“I was just… remembering things. You know how it is sometimes.” Angela combs her hair back and tucks it behind her ear. 

Fareeha eyes her out of the side of her eye, then reaches into her pocket, pulls out a few hair pins, and presses them into Angela’s palm. Angela flushes slightly. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and reaches up to pin the rogue strands back.

Fareeha glances up just enough to catch Brigitte and Reinhardt’s expressions, eyes wide and bright, with twin large grins. She furrows her brow. “What?”

“Nothing!” Reinhardt says, before Brigitte can reply.

“Nothing at all!” Brigitte assumes a straight face. “We’re just… glad to have you back.”

Fareeha looks between the two curiously, but seems to (warily) accept it. “Glad to be back.” 

Anything else she has to say dissipates from her mind upon Hana’s appearance, which is followed by a great deal of chatter and general cacophony. Angela allows herself to just sit back and enjoy the warmth and din, occasionally glancing at Satya to check in on her.

“Well,” Angela says at last, sitting back and checking the time, “I think I must be going.”

“Already?” Brigitte frowns and cocks her head. “You’re not going to stick around for dessert?”

“Or a drink?” Reinhardt lifts a bottle of beer.

“I’m not really a beer person, you know this.” As Angela says this, Reinhardt shrugs and pours the bottle’s contents into his mug. “And if you all manage to blow through a large bottle of wine  _ and  _ a large bottle of vodka in one night…” She pauses, and smiles. “I’ll have your heads. Save me some dessert though; I’ll probably be back later.”

Brigitte sighs. “Alright, but it won’t be as hot or fresh…”

“I’ll live. There’s work to do.” Angela leans back and raises her voice. “McCree! 7:30!” He nods and touches the brim of his hat in a gesture of acknowledgement before going back to chatting quietly with Genji.

Angela steps out of the room, into the much cooler, darker, and quieter hallway, taking a deep breath to clear her mind. She props herself against the wall for a few minutes, building a mental checklist of things she needs. The Valkyrie and Caduceus systems, for a full scan and review. McCree’s woefully sparse medical files. All the notes and documents about the development of the emergency “resurrection” procedure. All the notes and documents about the Valkyrie and Caduceus systems as well, she supposes. She takes another deep breath. It’s a short list. Short enough for one night, anyways.

Angela lingers in her spot for a while longer, then abruptly turns and begins to make her way towards her room and the medbay.

 

* * *

 

“Evening, doc.” McCree peers into the medbay, the rush of the doors opening announcing his presence.

“Oh, McCree.” Angela looks up from her clipboard. She’s changed into her usual long white coat, stethoscope and ID hanging around her neck. She flips a page on the clipboard and sticks her pen through the clip. “Come on in. How do you feel?”

“Not dead.” McCree chuckles. He takes a seat, takes off his hat, and sets it on the nearby counter. “Pretty good, actually. Just a little drowsy.”

“That’s good.” Angela scrutinizes him. “Well, first of all, you’re right: you’re not dead. Congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” he replies affably. “In more ways than one.”

“You’re welcome.” Angela flips another page on the clipboard. “Now then, this seems to suggest that you’re in no eminent danger. Even so, I’d like to check some things. Everything, to be specific.”

“Specific, huh?” Still, McCree shrugs good-naturedly. “Alright.”

“But, since it’s late, we’re both tired, and there is no immediate emergency, I’ll settle with just your vitals for now.”

“I’m assuming you’ll want me back in here in the morning?”

“Indeed.” Angela moves to comb back her hair, and finds it already pulled back. She lightly brushes the hair pins with her fingers, a trace of pleasant surprise flitting across her features.

“Hm. By the way doc, back before you left for America… Winston had a chat with you about something, right?” McCree scratches the stubble on his neck. His tone is carefully casual.

Angela’s falters, thinking back. “He did, yes. Right arm, please. With the sleeve rolled up.”

“Gloomy subject.” McCree roll up the cuff on his right arm and holds out his hand, fingers spread, palm down. Angela patiently takes it and pulls it so his arm is fully extended. “Well I’ve been thinking about it. Me and Genji, actually, have been… how shall I say this… keeping our eyes and ears open. Anyways, I have a theory.”

“Do you?” Conversation dwindles as Angela takes a few readings. When she’s done, she scribbles some notes down and pulls the stethoscope earpieces out of her ears.

“I figured you ought to know. But let me preface this: the keyword is ‘theory’. I’ve passed it on to Genji, and we’re trying to figure out what’s going on and how much merit it has, but there’s no certainty yet.”

“I see. And you’d like me to keep an eye out as well.” Angela squints at something she’s written, makes another mark, and flips a page back. “So to speak.”

“Yes.” McCree glances over as Angela writes down a temperature. “Huh. That’s a little high, right?”

“Under current circumstances? No, actually.” Angela taps the paper with her pen. “You’ve just been eating, and your body is somewhat unusual besides that.” Her eyes shift over to McCree’s metal arm. “You will let me know if that starts acting up, right?”

“Always have.” McCree shrugs. “I ain’t shy. But back to my theory…”

“Mmhm.” Angela turns around, and with one tap a nearby screen lights up. She peers at it. “I’m listening.”

“So I took the time to dig around in those hard light generators we recovered. There’s nothing on them that identifies them. Just a code that doesn’t match with any database. So that implies they’re new and made to be used secretly, or at the very least with and/or by something that the manufacturer doesn’t want to be publicly associated with.”

“That seems fair.”

“Sure, Deadlock’s not a name most people want to be connected with. Ashe’s always had enough connections, money, and muscle in the form of good ol’ B.O.B. to get what she wants privately. But never hard light before. At least not beyond the usual munitions and such. It’s almost a little too high brow. You’d expect that kind of thing more from the Shimadas. Or Talon.”

“Maybe it  _ was  _ Talon.” Angela shrugs. “They were involved in the whole mess.”

“Indeed.” McCree sits back. “Anyways, the main concern is where they got that equipment. It’s pretty sophisticated hard light. Some company out there’s helping out either Deadlock, or Talon, or both. I’m mighty interested in who that might be.”

“Sophisticated you say..?” Angela hesitates. “Have you shown them to Satya? She’s one of the best out there when it comes to hard light.”

McCree sighs. “So here’s the thing…”

Angela gives him a sharp look. “I don’t believe that—”

McCree raises his hands. “All I’m saying is that Vishkar’s big, big enough to easily slip these things under the radar. And they don’t exactly have a perfect track record. She’s obligated to report back to them, and rather… pedantic besides. We technically didn’t get permission to take this stuff back with us. I think it’d be a bad call to let her know.”

Angela clenches her fists, then reluctantly relaxes them. “This is a slippery slope, McCree. This is how it happened last time.”

McCree nods. “I know. We’ll do this as cleanly and smoothly as we can.”

Angela considers this, unhappiness plain on her face. “She’s not a bad person. She would never do something like that,” she murmurs.

“Maybe, but maybe her superiors would.” McCree sits in silence for a minute. “Well,” he says, stretching, “am I good to go?”

“Oh, yes.” Angela quickly checks all of her notes again. “You seem fine. Tomorrow morning, 10:00 sharp, if you will. I need a little bit of time to work on some other things.”

“Don’t work too hard now.” McCree stands up, picks up his hat, tips it, and puts it back on his head.

Angela snorts. “Take your own advice.”

“Oh I will. I’m thinking I’ll get some sleep. A lot of sleep, actually.” He scratches his beard again. “Can’t do too much with you breathing down my neck.” He grins good-naturedly, turns, and heads for the door.

Angela scowls at him, rolls her eyes, and goes back to scrutinizing her notes and results. Eventually she returns to the mess hall for a cold cinnamon roll and a cup of tea, then wanders into the lab to work long into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching Swedish food was surprisingly much more troublesome than anticipated; there's quite a bit of regional variation, which is, admittedly, to be expected. Not knowing where exactly the Lindholms are from, I couldn't tell what might be considered "traditional" for them. I ended up just making a note of the most common things and picking semi-randomly from that list.
> 
> "mamma" is, of course, "mom" in Swedish


	34. Fresh Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some domestic charm and bonding in the middle of the day. Angela leaves doors open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that new short story messed up my mental concept of the timeline a bit, but this fic was never *completely* canon compliant anyways :p

_“We underestimated them.” One metal claw tapped out a staccato rhythm of frustration on the table. “The gang of underfunded brats.”_

_“_ You _underestimated them.” One could almost hear the smirk in that voice. “How ironic. You’re supposed to know them better than any of us.”_

_“Stop giving me that condescending sneer. You’re not exempt from blame.”_

_“And what did I tell you? What was the only thing that’s gone flawlessly in the last… oh, year or so?”_

_“Sombra had as much of a role in that as you did.”_

_“Thanks. Glad someone around here recognizes it.”_

_“And she’s failed repeatedly before and after then. But you didn’t answer my question. What did I tell you?”_

_“...”_

_“That’s what I thought.”_

 

* * *

 

“Allowing for more precise, minute corrections…” Angela buries her head in her hands and groans. What a slog.

“Sounds like you’re having fun.” Fareeha raps her knuckles lightly on the doorframe.

Angela looks up, rubs her eyes, and adjusts her glasses. She smiles wearily. “Truly, it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever read. But what brings you here? Did you need something?”

Fareeha shrugs. “I just wanted to check in on you. You haven’t left your office in days.” She holds up a plate. “I got lunch.”

“I’ve been coming to dinner, haven’t I?” Angela sets the paper down, straightens the stack, and pushes it off to the side, gratefully accepting the food. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Just don’t go passing out from exhaustion on me.” Fareeha eyes the various cups scattered on and around the desk. “Did you lose your mug again?”

“Hm? No, I think I left it in the lab.”

Fareeha sighs. “You think?”

“I remember it from last night. So unless it’s been moved after then…” Angela taps a finger on her chin. She shrugs. “I’ll find it.”

Fareeha just shakes her head. “Honestly…” She trails off, casting a curious glance at the pile of papers on the corner of Angela’s desk. “By the way, what _have_ you been so busy with? That’s not from Oasis, is it?”

“It is. Most of it anyways. I’ve been trying to cross reference them with some old Overwatch files. Hence why they’re printed.” Angela picks up a cup, eyes it and wrinkles her nose, but sips its contents anyways.

“Was the old database _not_ digital..?”

“Well yes, it was, but Winston says he can’t find a digital copy of these. Only old physical documents that he copied off for me.”

“Why would there not be a digital version?” Fareeha cocks her head.

Angela shrugs. “Who knows? Maybe they got wiped off the database. Or maybe they’re locked behind another convoluted wall. A lot of Blackwatch documents have been lost completely; it’s fortunate that we could salvage these.”

“Blackwatch documents.” Fareeha studies the pile more closely, as if she can discern its secrets by just staring.

“Quite. It seems Gabe was fastidious about keeping them separate and secure to the point that Winston still hasn’t been able to get his hands on all of them.”

“Quite the feat. What do they entail, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Angela snorts. “You _do_ remember that I’m not technically allowed to keep secrets from you, right?”

“I know that ‘technically’ won’t stop you or anyone else here, for that matter. Aside from Satya, perhaps.” Fareeha gives Angela a steady look. “Am I wrong?”

“No comment.” Angela flashes a quick grin. “Regardless. These are all things that relate to genetic modification, mostly from the desk of one Dr. O’Deorain.” Her eyes darken. “The things she got away with in Blackwatch…”

Fareeha leans against the desk and crosses her arms. “Sounds like she hasn't changed much.”

“She hasn’t. It’s all relentlessly unapologetic and morally dubious at best. But the past is the past and she _did_ get results; I might as well look into them.” Angela makes a face as she says this, as if the words are bitter on her tongue. “On the off chance that you talk to her again, don’t tell her I said that. She’ll be insufferable.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Fareeha looks down at Angela. “You said ‘mostly’?”

“The rest are from the American super soldier program.”

“Not very much on that, I’m assuming.”

“No.” Angela pulls up the pile to reveal a single page at the bottom of the stack. “Just this and some medical files on Jack and Gabe.”

“Huh.” Fareeha barely has time to read the page’s heading before Angela replaces the rest of the stack.

“Anyways, there are a lot of things that suggest that…” Angela shakes her head. “Nevermind, it’s just conjecture at this point. I shouldn’t be saying things that I don’t know for sure.”

“Interesting. And here I thought you were working on your… you called it an emergency resuscitation system?”

“What are you, my boss?” Angela sticks her tongue out. “I have been working on it. That’s why I’ve been in the lab.”

“Oh?” Fareeha cocks her head. “And how has it been going?”

“Well, I think. I figured out how to make it less draining both on the equipment and on myself. It needs a lot more testing and refining though,” Angela replies. “And it seems to have worked perfectly aside from that last time, so…”

“Sounds like you’ve been making good progress.”

“I guess.”

A sudden mischievous glint appears in Fareeha’s eye. “So you agree that you’ve earned a break.”

“I—” Angela gives Fareeha an incredulous look. “Is that why you asked?”

“No comment.” Fareeha grins.

“For someone that readily admits to working too hard, you’re quite adamant about me taking a break,” Angela says, in between pauses as she finishes eating.

“And _you’re_ quite adamant about us taking care of ourselves as best we can, for someone that regularly stays up past midnight and occasionally gets very drunk.” Fareeha’s voice is gently teasing.

Angela’s face reddens. “Winston didn’t show you… did he?”

“No, should I ask?” Fareeha laughs at the horrified look on Angela’s face. “I’m kidding.”

“Good!” Angela hurriedly waves away the idea. “Besides, it’s probably been deleted.”

“Now I’m curious.” Fareeha jerks her head towards the door. “But nevermind that. You should get up, stretch your legs a little.”

Angela rolls her eyes. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“It will. And you know it’s good for you.” Fareeha straightens up. “For the record, I do think your work is interesting. I didn’t ask just to bait you into taking a break.”

“Oh.” For some reason, Angela can’t quite think of what to say. “I… think your work is interesting too.”

“Do you.” Fareeha smirks. “I didn’t think you were the explosion sort of woman.”

Angela’s blush deepens as she stands. “I… like… flying.”

Fareeha’s grin widens. “I see.” She turns to the door. “Come on. I have an idea.”

“I’m thinking more and more that you didn’t come to ‘just’ check up on me.” Angela begins to pick up used cups and crumpled papers. “Hold on. Don’t you dare help out; I’ll feel bad.”

Fareeha’s eyes slide over to a stray bit of paper debris on the ground, but backs off at a particularly dirty look from Angela. She instead settles in the doorframe. “Suit yourself.”

It only takes a few minutes. Angela trashes the last of the coffee-stained cups, dusts off her hands, and follows Fareeha to the door. “So, what’s this idea of yours?”

“You don’t have a guess? That tells me you haven’t actually slept in your own bed in a while.” Fareeha leads her upstairs.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ll see.” Fareeha motions around the last bend in the stairs leading up to the second floor.

“You’re being very crypt…” Angela trails off when she sees her door. A string of pale yellow-white fairy lights had been strung up around its frame, glimmering like stars, reflections shimmering on the metal. “When did… how…”

“I mentioned our chat to Lena. She decided to leave you a gift before she went home.”

“Remind me to thank her.” Angela fumbles in her pockets. “Or rather, I should do it right now.” She pauses and gives Fareeha a suspicious look. “Did you go into my room?”

“No. That’s a private space. Lena even debated putting this up on your door without you knowing, but we discussed and decided you’d probably like it.” Fareeha nods at the light on the door. “Besides, it’s locked and it’s not like we could convince Athena to unlock it for something like interior decorating. And even then, what would we do? Neither of us know what you really like. Unless you really wanted an old Reinhardt poster.”

Angela laughs. “No, thank you.” She produces her phone, taps out a quick message, and puts it back in her pocket.

“Good, because I don’t think I would have given it to you anyways.”

Angela snorts. “We are thinking of the same poster, right?”

“What, do you have a problem with the design? I thought it was pretty good.”

“So did he. Does, rather. He still brings it up sometimes.”

“Besides, I’ve had it for a long, long time.” Fareeha counts back on her fingers, but gives up halfway through. “I’m pretty sure it’s survived all that time and travel by virtue of being wrapped up and delegated to the bottoms of my various drawers for the last two decades, decade and a half or so.”

“Don’t tell him that; he might get offended.” Angela reaches for the door handle. “Do you want to come inside then?”

“If you’d let me.”

“Well then.” Angela tilts her head towards the door. It unlocks with a soft click. She pushes it open.

“Thank you.” Fareeha nods. The room is dark; the windows shuttered with the watchpoint’s standard metal blinds and dark grey curtains. She squints as Angela throws open the curtains and opens up the blinds, allowing the noon sun to come streaming through, throwing a bright rectangle of light over the floor. It also highlights her windowsill. She grins. “You _do_ have rocks.”

“Why would I lie about that?” Angela runs her fingers lightly over each of the 4 stones. “Though I don’t really know why I picked them up.”

“Ah.” Fareeha takes a closer look. “These look familiar.”

“That’s because they’re… I guess I picked them up to take my mind off things during the Deadlock mission.”

“How so?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“I’d rather think about a pebble than about an impending gunfight.”

“That’s fair.” Fareeha nods at the last one, a chunk of white limestone. “Is that from the cliffs?”

“I thought I should pick up one more to round out the set. And then I laid them all out, went to sleep, and then…” Angela looks sideways at her bed, clearly unmade.

“And then you bounced back and forth between the medbay, lab, and your office for several days without coming back.” Fareeha looks around. “Do you remember when I said you might sleep in here more if you liked it more?”

“Certainly, but…” Angela looks around doubtfully.

“You can’t argue that it wouldn’t be better for you than passing out in the nearest chair. Unless you’ve been using the medbay cots?”

Angela makes a so-so gesture with her hands. “Not really.”

“That’s what I thought.” Fareeha steps back and turns on the lights, earning her some grumbling and squinting from Angela. She takes a fresh look around.

“You’re saying I should take a break from work by cleaning my room?” Still, Angela laughs. “Alright, alright.” She looks around, taking in the barely controlled disorder. She crosses to the bathroom, turns on the lights and looks in. “I’ll do my best.”

“Of course. I’ll…” Fareeha glances at the bed. “Straighten things out here.”

“Uh huh.” Angela disappears entirely into her bathroom. A clatter and whispered curses follow shortly after.

A few minutes later, Angela reappears in the doorway with a handful of empty containers. She stares at the bed, now neatly made. “That was fast.”

“Was it?” Fareeha, staring at Angela’s piles of laundry with a look of intense consternation, looks around. “By the way, which one of these piles is the clean one? The hamper, I hope?”

“The hamper has the clean clothes, yes.” Angela dumps her collection of empty bottles and tubes into a trashcan by the door. She turns back towards the bathroom.

“So if your clean clothes are in here…” Fareeha looks around. “What’s in your closet?”

Angela, halfway in the other room, immediately turns around. “Well…”

“You don’t have skeletons in there, do you?” Fareeha picks up a shirt and looks around, amusement playing across her features.

“No, but I did put my… well,” Angela stutters and trails off.

Fareeha looks between her and the closet. “May I take a look?”

“Yes.” The reply seems rushed. Angela runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. “Certainly. I just forgot that I had… nevermind.” Fareeha slides open the closet door and stands back, Angela watching her nervously. “They’re old things, you know.”

Fareeha takes a moment to take it all in, then nods at the bright blue suit on one of the hangers. “Is that your old uniform?”

“Yes. I think the prototype staff and gun are somewhere in there too.” Angela twists her fingers together nervously. “The others are… well, you know, Halloween was always a fun time at the Watchpoint; Reinhardt, Gabe, _and_ Jack were all quite enthusiastic about it, actually. I put the first one together mostly to humor them, but I enjoyed it, and it was a hobby I could do outside of work.”

Fareeha stands there for a long moment and studies the various outfits hung up in the closet. “You’re good at it,” she says at last.

“Well,” Angela combs her fingers through her hair, winces, and undoes her hair clip. “Gabriel was a good teacher.” She repins her hair back.

“Is that a picture?” Fareeha turns her head and peers at the inside of the closet door. She doesn’t quite have the angle to look at it.

Suddenly, Angela’s at her side, blocking her view. “No, that’s just a note.” She hurriedly reaches around her back, pulls whatever it is off the door, and shoves it in her pocket. “I forgot I left it there.”

“Right.” Fareeha doesn’t ask.

“I have to go… organize… the soap.” Angela slips away.

“Of… course.” Fareeha pushes the costumes to the side, and begins to hang clothes. After several minutes, she turns around and suddenly makes eye contact with Satya, standing curiously in the doorway.

“What are you doing?” She looks around. “This isn’t your room.”

“I was helping Angela clean up.” Fareeha cocks her head. “What are you doing around here?”

“Walking,” Satya replies flatly.

“Hello Satya.” Angela pokes her head out of the bathroom again. For a brief moment, a shadow flits across her face, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “How are you?”

“Well enough.” Satya gives the dust building up in some of the corners a disapproving look. “If it would not be too forward of me… may I offer my assistance?”

“You’re certainly welcome,” Angela replies. She emerges completely from the bathroom.

Satya looks over her shoulder. “Do you have cleaning supplies?”

“Ah, no.” Angela also looks over her shoulder.

“I’ll go get some.” Satya looks around again. “And a vacuum.”

“Most appreciated.” Angela nods.

“By the way Angela,” Fareeha says as Satya leaves, glancing down at the scattered notes on the ground. “Which of these are important?”

“Hm?” Angela glances over. “Oh, er… I think most of them aren’t relevant anymore, but I should probably check. I’m done here anyways,” she says, closing the door behind her.

She’s still bent over her desk, muttering and sorting her notes and stray papers into piles when Satya returns. Fareeha, done moving all the clean clothing into the closet and all the dirty clothing into the hamper, has moved on to pacing the room, scanning for stray trash. Satya doesn’t say anything; she merely crouches down, places a small vacuum on the floor, and turns it on. That done, she leaves back into the hall, returning shortly with a small box of supplies, and closes the door behind her. Fareeha idly steps over the little vacuum and continues to wander around.

Angela turns to watch them both, smiles faintly to herself, and goes back to sorting her things. Most of it she stacks into a precarious pile on the corner of her desk. The rest are divided into several smaller piles, only two or three sheets in most. Several more minutes of concentrated silence later, Angela suddenly opens her drawers, shoves the smaller piles in, and gathers the rest into her arms.

Fareeha watches as she begins to make her way to the recycling bin. “Have you ever considered getting some folders?”

“Yes, actually, I had several some time ago, but I moved those all out to the office.” Angela looks back at her desk. “I guess moving the drawer _would_ disrupt the piles.” Her eyes turn to the nightstand. “I put some things in there too… And the pen holder’s in the office as well…”

Fareeha pulls a scrap of paper and a pen out of her pocket, clicks the pen, and begins to write.

Satya, having disappeared into the bathroom, opens the door and steps out. She crosses over to the window and opens it, letting some fresh air in. She turns around. “We need to dust.”

A thorough dusting, followed by a thorough wiping-down of non-porous surfaces, followed by another, equally thorough scrubbing down of the bathroom take up the bulk of the time. Somewhere in the middle, a discussion breaks out about colors; both Fareeha and Satya maintaining that blue is the clearly superior one, with Angela arguing that yellow and orange are equally lovely. At the end, Angela takes a seat in the chair by the window and does her best to ignore the lingering smell of bleach. “That’s enough for one day, I think.”

Fareeha murmurs a vague agreement. “Thank you for humoring me.”

“No, you’re right.” Angela sighs. “This is long overdue.”

“Now that I’m done bothering you for the day, I’ll leave you alone.” Fareeha nods and heads for the door.

“You’re never a bother,” Angela quotes. She winks and smiles. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

Satya watches as she disappears down the hall. “How are things going with her?”

Angela draws her knees up to her chest, buries her face in her hands, and groans. “Don’t make me think about it. Really… ‘I have rocks’? ‘I like flying’? Why did I say that? Stupid.”

Satya turns and gives Angela a patient look. “Those don’t seem to be particularly stupid things to say.”

“No, I’m an idiot.” Angela doesn’t look up, her voice still muffled. “Irredeemably.”

“Never, in my time knowing you, have you given me any reason to believe as such. Which is more than I can say for most people around here, might I add.”

Angela sighs and lifts her face. “By the way, Satya, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Satya waits silently. “Forgive me, I’m not familiar with what is and is not cutting edge these days. How difficult is adaptive hard light?”

“To generate?” Satya cocks her head. “If an engineer is present, they can shape the light however they wish.”

“And if an engineer is not present?”

“That would be much more difficult.” Satya begins to trace shapes in the air as she talks. “It’s a highly complex process, and the generators are both time and labor intensive and expensive to make. As far as I know, Vishkar is the only company that is even capable of it. Since we have rarely ever found the need for such technology, it’s largely stayed as a prototype as we focus on other things.”

“I see.” Angela ponders this.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, hypotheticals.” Angela waves her hand in the air. “Theories and such. When your mind says ‘what if’, you don’t dismiss it until you know for certain that it’s not possible.”

“Indeed.” Satya inclines her head. “If you would like, I can research further into the topic, and see if there’s anything that I was unaware of.”

“That would be nice, actually.” Angela flashes a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Ah… yes.” Satya coughs and goes back to looking out the door. “It’s no trouble for me. I don’t have any projects at the moment.”

“Hm, well, enjoy your time off, alright? And if you ever need anything, let me know.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Angela. You can call me Angela.”

“You’re a professional. It’s a title that you earned.” Satya clears her throat. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

Angela considers her. “Call me what you like,” she says. “Including just ‘Angela’. I didn’t want you to think that you were obligated to keep calling me ‘Dr. Ziegler’.”

Satya inclines her head again. “I understand.”

“I think of you as a friend, anyways.” Angela uncurls and stretches.

Satya is silent for a long time. “I’m glad,” she says at last. “The feeling’s mutual. We are coworkers, after all.” She looks as if she wants to say something else, but thinks better of it. “Have a good day Dr… Angela.” She, too, begins to make her way to the door.

Angela beams at her retreating figure. “You as well, Satya. Take care of yourself.”

Satya tilts her head slightly to indicate that she heard, but she doesn’t stop or speak, leaving Angela alone to enjoy the afternoon sunlight and fresh air. After nearly half an hour, Angela finally, reluctantly, stirs and wanders back down to her office.

 

She looks up a long time later and squints at the clock. 12:47. It takes her a few moments to process. She sighs and rubs her eyes. “And I _just_ said today that I’d been making it to dinner.” She sets her pen down and looks down at her mess of notes and annotations. She had tried to color code things, but had given up halfway through and written more than half of it all in blue. _Her favorite color._ Angela shakes her head. Another thought pops into her head. _She’d want me to go to sleep._ She shakes her head again, more insistently this time, and puts her pen back to the paper. She’s onto something. She can’t stop now.

_But it would be good for me._ Angela hisses to herself. The research could shed light on something that might save lives. If it is what she thinks it is, it could be what Overwatch needed to gain a foothold in their long fight against Talon. But she’s doing poorer work for lack of rest. But she needs time to think… Angela scowls down at the papers. Then, she puts her pen down with a rather aggressive clack and stands up, pushing her chair back. She circles around her desk and lays her hand on the door’s handle. She looks back at her desk, and all the papers still spread over its surface. She darts back, gathers up all her papers, tucks them under her arm, and darts out the door.

 

* * *

 

She keeps looking at them, between washing up and changing. She had set them on her nightstand as soon as she entered the room, alongside a pen that had rolled precariously to the edge, just in case she wanted to work. And now she stands, arms crossed, in her black, sleeveless undershirt and light grey sweatpants (the most comfortable things within arms reach), hair loose around her shoulders, the lights highlighting the dark bags under her eyes, staring at the papers and tapping her foot. The white papers are almost too bright in the light. Eventually, she rolls her eyes, lets out a deep breath, and reaches to turn out the lights.

The bed is nice. Angela vaguely feels bad about ruining it by actually using it, but it feels good. Comfortable. And perhaps it’s just her imagination, but Angela swears a trace scent of jet fuel lingers in the air. Angela’s face flushes slightly, curls deeper into her sheets, and lets her eyelids grow heavy and close. She drifts into a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

The office is empty after Angela leaves, silent and still, frosted with faint moonlight and deep, dark shadows. The door is slightly ajar. It opens slightly wider, smoothly. Silently. The drawers are slowly pulled open, their movement pausing every time a scraping or creaking sound is made. The papers inside are carefully lifted, each movement accompanied by a ripple in the moonlight, or perhaps a faint purple glimmer. One by one, each drawer is opened, checked, and closed. The room falls still again.

“Well, miracle worker,” a voice whispers, “you’re either smart, or lucky. Let’s hope you live up to your name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself a note as I was writing the first draft. It goes as follows: "That's the only straight thing about Angela's bed hA ;)"
> 
> A friend had enough time to beta read this chapter for me and she threatened to punch me when she read that.


	35. Friendly Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satya and Hana make good friends. Hana has some surprising wisdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, writer's block. It was a bit of a struggle to balance fluff vs actually moving the plot forward, but then I thought....this is a romance...fluff moves the plot forward....and you know I can't argue with that.

_“How long has it been?”_

_“Does it matter?”_

_“Yes. Of course it does.”_

_“...It’s been a while.” The conversation faltered. “Do you… mind?”_

_“No. Why would I?”_

_“... I see.”_

 

* * *

 

“Fareeha! Good morning!” Angela strides down the hall in her ubiquitous black shirt, white lab coat, and blue lanyard. She gives her a curious look as she gets closer. “What is that?”

Fareeha closes the door behind her and looks down at the potted plant tucked under her arm. “A spider plant.” She gestures vaguely behind her at the door leading outside. “According to Zenyatta, Bastion thinks it would be irresponsible to grow a non-native species outside, so they decided to rehome it with the first person that walked by. Which was me.”

“Ah, that’s nice,” Angela smiles. She looks outside, where the sky is a bright, pale grey. “How is Ganymede, by the way?”

“Seemed fine to me.” Fareeha cocks her head. “That bird does seem to be bright all year long though. It’s unusual.”

“Almost everything about Ganymede is unusual,” Angela says. “But I suppose I wouldn’t know.”

“We could always look it up.” Fareeha nods at the notebook tucked under Angela’s arm. “More lab work today?”

“Not right now, actually. Winston’s been wanting to start up regular sparring again, so I’m going in to keep an eye on it. Genji and Winston himself in particular have always been my responsibility to watch over.” Angela taps the tabs sticking out of the top of the notebook. Fareeha notices they’re numbered.

“Are they in today? I can’t imagine Genji’s body would react well with Winston’s tesla cannon.”

“He’s more shock resistant than one might think, but yes, I agree. I’ll be watching closely.”

“Are they sparring each other, then?”

“From what I’ve been told, yes, mostly for Winston’s benefit. It would be unusual for Genji to ever face anyone like Winston, I think, but Winston needs to refine his ability to pinpoint and catch small, fast targets.” Angela sighs. “I only hope he doesn’t end up crushing Genji. After that they’re going to get Reinhardt plus one or both of the Lindholms to go against them.”

“Practicing working together and giving each other the required space, then?” Fareeha chuckles. “I don’t envy them. They’ll be up against a very experienced, synergized team.”

“Mm, neither do I. But that experience means they should have good control and run some nice teaching rounds, as it were. And Winston and Genji have worked together more than once before.”

Fareeha nods. “Speaking of synergy, we also need to start training again.” She flashes a grin. “Can’t let ourselves fall behind, can we?”

Angela rolls her eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me.” She pulls a pen out of her pocket and pokes Fareeha playfully in the side. “Keep that up and we’ll have to be the ones running teaching rounds soon enough.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing. It’d be a learning experience for everyone.”

Angela scowls, but there’s a lighthearted gleam in her eyes. “Lena’s the only one around here that can summon up more time, Fareeha. I have—”

“Besides, I’d always love to spend more time with you,” Fareeha says, interrupting her.

Angela opens her mouth. She closes it. Her face reddens. “O-oh,” she squeaks out.

Fareeha laughs, equal parts fondness and relief blooming in her chest. “Sorry for cutting you off. If you’re busy, we can hold off on training for now.”

“No, no!” Angela waves her hands, a bit of an awkward maneuver with the notebook still clasped under her arm. “I have time! I just need to rearrange a few things.”

“I don’t want to pressure you into overdoing it.”

“It’s fine.” Angela combs her fingers through her hair. “You’re giving me very mixed signals right now,” she mutters under her breath. Fareeha doesn’t seem to hear.

Fareeha brightens up. “If you’re sure. Let me know when the best time would be.” She looks down. “By the way, do you want this?”

“What?” Angela follows Fareeha’s gaze to the potted plant in the crook of her arm. “Oh! I wouldn’t be opposed, but I’m not sure if I trust myself to not kill it.”

“That’s a phrase I never thought I’d hear you say.” Fareeha snorts. “They’re hard to kill. Just water it once every week or two, make sure it drains well, and keep it out of direct sunlight, for the most part.”

“Ah, well, I think I can do that.” Angela checks the time and glances down the hall. “I need to go right now though.”

“I’ll swing by later.” Fareeha begins to make her way down the hall.

“Wait.” Angela reached out with her free hand and tugs on Fareeha’s sleeve. “Hold on, let me just…” She rummages in her pockets and produces a card. “I might not be back until very late. Take my spare key.” She presses the card into her palm.

“Alright, thank you.” Fareeha pockets the card. “Good luck with the spars.”

“Yeah.” Angela remains standing in her place for a while. She touches her fingers to her face, feels the warmth in her skin. She checks the time again, takes a deep breath, and hurries away, shaking her head to clear her mind. “Better not be late…”

 

* * *

 

Fareeha holds the card up to the sensor, and the door opens with a soft click. The half-shuttered window lets a stripe of light across the floor. Fareeha looks around and crosses to the window, and the desk set up underneath it. She sets the pot down on the back corner of the desk closest to the wall, letting the long, thin leaves and tendrils spill over the side. She looks around, hesitates, then slowly makes her way back into the hall, gently closing the door behind her.

Fareeha stands quietly in the hall. She looks up and down the corridor, considering her options. She eventually begins to meander towards the commons.

“Hey Fareeha!” Hana peeks over the back of the couch and waves.

“Good morning.” Fareeha nods. Her eyes flick over to the large screen. “What are you up to?”

“There’s a tourney going on right now.” Hana turns around to the screen again. “Whoo! Look at that! Are they going to do a replay? Yessss okay okay...shut up you two.” After another few moments of staring intently and the screen, Hana cheers again. “Nearly frame perfect!”

“‘You two’?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a big tourney. People wanted to know what we thought.”

“‘We’ being your teammates?” Fareeha looks at the screen. “What was that?”

“It was an— Oh, there they go! Not bad, but I would have liked it if they…” Hana turns around. “Sorry ‘Reeha, there’s a lot of layers to explain.”

“I can see that.” Fareeha backs up and wanders over to a nearby table. “Are you cheering for any particular team?”

“Am I cheering for—you know the old team’s playing, right?”

“Can’t say I was paying attention.” Fareeha walks back over and takes a closer look at the screen. “And they’re playing against…”

“Our—er, their main rivals!” Hana grins. “King’s former team, isn’t that right?” She listens to something through her headphones and laughs.

“Oh? Good luck.”

“Hear that King? Three versus one!” Hana laughs again. “That’s against contract!”

Fareeha circles away again, quietly tuning out Hana’s continued cheering and chatter. The sun slowly rises, the sky turning from grey, to pale blue, to bright blue. It’s a clear day, with only a few wispy white clouds drifting in from the sea. At a certain angle, the light glints bright and golden on the window frames. Fareeha spends some time looking at the windows, walking this way and that to watch the light scatter and come together.

She’s leaning against a table, gazing vaguely out the window when Hana’s voice cuts through her thoughts. “You alright?”

“What makes you say that?” Fareeha shakes herself out of her reverie and looks down. The room is quiet. “Is the game over?”

“Yeah, which means you’ve been pacing around restlessly for like…” Hana thinks back. “Two or three hours.”

“Have I really?”

“Been here three hours? Yeah.”

“No, pacing restlessly.” Fareeha frowns.

“Seemed pretty restless to me. Got something on your mind?” Hana nods at the table.

“Maybe.” Fareeha sighs and relents, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Hana takes a seat opposite her.

“Feel like talking about it?” Hana flaps her hand in the air. “Feel free to ramble.”

“I don’t think I have enough words to ramble.” Fareeha smiles. “I guess I’m just out of things to do.”

“Huh.” Hana tilts her head. “Hold on.” She gets up and darts off.

Fareeha watches her go, and goes back to watching the clouds scuttle across the sky. A few seagulls wheel in circles in the distance. She can almost hear their harsh, shrieking cries. She closes her eyes.

_Clink._ Fareeha cracks open an eye as Hana sticks a straw in a tall green soda bottle and slides it over. “Before you ask, I’m not telling you where or how I got these.” She sets another one down on the table.

“You know I am security, right?” Fareeha ignores the straw and lifts the bottle to her lips to take a sip. Strawberry flavor.

“I’m pretty sure we’re all security.” Hana raises an eyebrow. “The only people around here that aren’t armed are either robots, or trained in martial arts, or just strong enough to knock someone out in one swing if they really wanted to. So are most of the people that _are_ armed.”

“Robots?”

“Trained in martial arts and/or just really buff. Like you.” Hana sips from straw, considers something, and then leans forward conspiratorially. “I would tell you, but you can’t tell Angie. She’ll skin me alive if she finds out.”

“All she would have to do is ask Athena.” Fareeha glances towards the ceiling vaguely in the direction of where she knows a security camera is hidden.

“I’m banking on her not doing that, and no one else telling her.” Hana takes another sip. “I mean, it’s good, right?”

“It is.” The drink is sweet, its carbonation cold and crackly over Fareeha’ tongue. “Alright. I won’t tell.”

“Great!” Hana sits back. “Okay, so they’ve been off doing combat training for most of today, right? ‘They’ being most of the watchpoint.”

“From what I’ve heard.”

“So I figured I could use the bigger screen out here if everyone’s busy.” Hana pauses to take another sip. “How do you think it’s going?”

“The sparring? I think Genji and Winston are having a bad time.” Fareeha chuckles. “Or will be soon, at least.”

“Yeah, they’ll be getting smacked around a lot, huh? Or lit on fire. Or both.”

“I don’t envy Angela.” Fareeha imagines the doctor sternly pointing her pen at Winston and Reinhardt. Then she imagines either of those two trying to look small and embarrassed. She grins to herself.

“Yeah, she’s really got her work cut out for her, trying to look after all of us.”

“Didn’t you break your leg a while ago?”

“Yep, and my arm even more recently! Well, I didn’t break my arm. More like I got it torn open.” Hana shrugs, apparently unconcerned. “Not fun, but I’ve never recovered from something like that so fast.”

Fareeha sighs, more to herself than anything. “She is pretty amazing.” Her eyes drift towards the window again.

Hana blinks, her lips forming a silent “Oh.” She takes a few minutes to enjoy her drink and think about her words before saying anything. “You know what?”

Fareeha looks over curiously. She waits a moment, then takes the bait. “What?”

“When I first met her, and for a long time after that… she had the saddest eyes. You ever notice that? Like she was lost in herself.” Fareeha nods, thinking back. “I think that whenever she looked at me, all she saw was what was written in my medical file. I mean, sure, it was a massive transforming robot; classic villain, evil minions and all, but I went pretty suddenly from video games to real combat. It was…” Hana searches for the word.

“Jarring?” Fareeha offers, voice quiet, gentle. Hana’s even younger than she was, when she first saw action.

“Yeah. Jarring. I didn’t always… I mean I had the team, the staff, the fans… but I didn’t handle it perfectly, and I’m pretty sure they wrote that down. I could see it in her eyes. When the operation went bad in Russia, and when she thought I wasn’t looking, she had this air about her, this weird, scared sort of expression like she thought she’d failed. And it’s not just with me; with _everyone_ she has this ‘if something happens to you it’ll be 100% my fault and I can’t let that happen’ sort of vibe. I remember thinking, ‘that woman has done something that she hasn’t forgiven herself for.’ She’s good at covering it up, but it was always there if you looked closely enough.” Hana rolls the straw between her fingers, voice quiet. “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is, she’s been smiling, like _really_ smiling a lot more since she started hanging out with you. The sadness is going away. Whatever guilt she has, she’s learning to confront and let go. She probably thinks you’re pretty amazing too.” Hana briefly looks Fareeha in the eye before pulling her straw back to her lips.

Now it’s Fareeha’s then to be surprised. Her eyes widen, and for several minutes she can’t muster up any words. _I underestimated you, Hana Song,_ is all she can think. She looks askance. “I’m lucky if my words even come out like I want them to when I talk to her. Nevermind actually saying the right thing.”

Hana cocks her head. “You think she’s that cute, huh?” Fareeha doesn’t meet her gaze, instead concentrating on willing her blush away. It doesn’t quite work. Hana laughs. “Well, even if your words aren’t exactly what you were thinking, you can still say what you mean and say the right thing. And even if you do mess up, it’s not the end of the world, right? You’re a good person. She knows that. Apologize and trust that she knows you’re being sincere.”

“I suppose,” Fareeha mumbles. She thinks back through every conversation she can remember and cringes slightly.

Hana rolls her eyes. “You’re useless. Okay, how about this? If you’re anxious because you can’t stop overanalyzing everything you’ve said or whatever, do you want to just… I don’t know, chat? I can rustle up some snacks.”

“You don’t have to,” Fareeha says hurriedly. She coughs. “That is, I’m not hungry.”

Hana shrugs as if to say “Suit yourself” and goes back to sipping her drink. “By the way, I just realized that both Reinhardt and the Lindholms all have a blunt weapon. Wonder if that’s on purpose?” Hana says idly. “Like, if they’re practicing against specific weapon types, or something?”

“Maybe.” Fareeha’s shoulders lift in a small shrug. “They would all pass straight through hard light shields. It’s a unique challenge.”

“So if they’re testing weapon types…” Hana gets a peculiar gleam in her eyes. “Think they’ll want to do… oh, I don’t know… explosives?”

“That would be me and you, wouldn’t it?” Fareeha smiles lightly, some of the tension draining from her. “I’d like that. After all this time, I don’t believe I’ve ever actually seen you use your… micro missiles?” Fareeha looks over; Hana gives her an affirming nod. “In person.”

“You’ve barely seen me and Tokki in action!” Hana leans forward. “No one here’s seen her self destruct sequence!” She has a sort of manic look in her eyes.

“I think that’s for the best.”

Hana sits back with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, I know. The last time I did it was when I broke my leg. Replacing the entire mech wasn’t cheap either.” She suddenly sits bolt upright. “We forgot Lena!”

Fareeha’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Lena! Her bombs! She works with explosives too!” Hana eyes Fareeha and taps her chin. “Speaking of which, you know who would definitely relate to getting anxious about talking to a cute girl?”

Fareeha snorts. “I can’t imagine Lena getting anxious about talking to anyone.”

“Yeah, well I could say the same about you. Running around facing everything down with that steely, determined look, and then suddenly breaking down about talking to your crush, who is probably one of the least scary people in the world?”

Fareeha winces. “She’s pretty good in a fight. And you were just telling me that she’d ‘skin you alive’ for smuggling in sugary drinks,” she murmurs weakly.

Hana rolls her eyes again. “Breaking news: Fareeha Amari thinks Dr. Angela Ziegler is going to kill her for saying something stupid that one time. I mean, her callsign is _literally_ ‘Mercy’.”

“I really have no defense, do I?”

“Nope.” Hana sucks up the last few drops at the bottom of her bottle. “Anyways, want to like… run down to the hangar and compare rockets or something?” She makes a face. “That sounded weird.”

Fareeha laughs. She doesn’t reply.

Hana glares at her. “I take everything back, you’re irredeemable and if Angie decides to kick your ass I will fully support her.”

Fareeha laughs harder.

Hana pulls out her phone and waves it in the air. “I’ll call her. I will literally call her and say ‘she’s a dumbass, don’t date her’.”

“Wait no,” Fareeha croaks, trying to control her laughter. She manages to get down to a quiet chuckle. “Also, don’t swear so much.”

Hana gives her an incredulous look. “Don’t be a square!”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means don’t be lame.”

“Alright, alright.” Fareeha raises her hands in defeat. “Don’t actually call her; she’s working. You were saying about the hangar..?”

“Well I was going to say that it’d be cool to see how your suit worked, but now…” Hana gives Fareeha a look of mock doubt.

“I suppose I could always talk about rockets.” Fareeha stands up, suddenly thoughtful. “And maybe you can tell me how you sneak things into the watchpoint without anyone noticing while we walk.”

“Why, so you can shut me down?”

“No,” Fareeha says, smiling. “Believe it or not. I just need to buy a few things.”

“Yeah?” Hana stands up, curiosity piqued. “Why can’t you just requisition them?”

“It’s a secret.” Then, almost like an afterthought, “for the record, I _have_ actually asked Lena for advice before.”

“Yeah? What did she say?”

“About the same as you.”

“Told you.” Hana stretches.

“By the way, did your team win?” Fareeha drops the bottles into the recycling and follows Hana out the door.

“Yeah! I told them, once they got Bird Woman #2’s vote of confidence, they couldn’t lose!”

“Why am I #2? I’m a little bit offended.”

“Alphabetical order. ‘Angela’ comes first.”

“‘Amari’ comes before that,” Fareeha says.

“Ok, sure, you might shoot rockets, but she basically resurrected a man. She’s cooler,” Hana shoots back.

Fareeha raises her eyebrows and inclines her head in concession. “I _guess_.”

“Glad you agree, Bird Woman #2.” Hana sticks out her tongue. She ducks and scampers off down the hallway before Fareeha can react.

 

* * *

 

“10 meters, Winston.” Angela releases the button. She presses it again. “How are you feeling, by the way?”

“I’m fine.” Winston’s voice rumbles through the speaker.

“Genji?”

“The first time I have tasted anything new in many years and it is ozone.” Genji’s laughter hums even more than it usually does. “I am alright.”

Satya leans over to the mic. “That is not reassuring.”

“Do not worry! He has gotten much better at not tasing me in the butt in the past hour.”

“I would contest that I have been making significant improvement in the last _two_ hours.” Winston chuckles.

“Alright, let’s get the number of times Genji gets electrocuted to zero for the rest of the day, please,” Angela says, in that sort of light voice that one might use with children.

“Ha! Got you!” Reinhardt’s triumphant crowing precedes and sound of general crashing and cacophony by a split second.

“And here I was about to comment that the other team has been uncharacteristically quiet.” Satya sighs. “Allow some time for the shields to regenerate please.”

“Does that mean we win?”

“We’re technically not doing this as a competition.” Angela unscrews a dry erase marker and makes a mark on a board. “But sure, let’s chalk it up to a win for you two.”

“Who has more wins?” Brigitte’s chirpy voice cuts through the chatter. “We’re winning, right?”

“Yes, Brigitte, you’re winning, but may I remind you, that is not—”

“Not the objective, I know, I know.” Through the window, Angela can see Brigitte wave her flail around. “But I just had this great idea, and it’s fun to win!”

“Winning or losing is a good incentive to make people do their best.” Satya flicks her fingers, and the broken field resets. “We _are_ getting good data.”

“So we are.” Angela presses the button again. “Let’s take a break.” She releases the switch, then pulls the top sheet of paper off of her clipboard and sets it to the side, its surface covered front and back with dense notes and scribbled diagrams. She taps her lips with her pen as she looks over the paper underneath, then suddenly looks up. “That wasn’t your pile was it?”

“No, it was yours.” Satya sets her own dense sheet of notes down and holds her hand over it, palm down. A beam of light scans over the paper. Satya lifts her hand to the wall, and a copy of the writing, made from blue light, appears on the dark metal.

“What are you taking notes on, by the way?” Angela leans to the side to get a clearer view, squinting at the neat, minute writing.

“The collateral damage resulting from combat in urban spaces is massive. The cost to not only repair structures, but to collect and dispose of dangerous materials, and the amount of people displaced or worse…” Satya shakes her head. She reaches out and begins to rearrange the notes, drawing lines connecting or underlining sections, or changing their colors into various shades of blue, green, and grey. “As I recall, you have often done work in regards to such circumstances. Providing humanitarian aid to those densely populated areas that have experienced disaster.”

“Well, yes. The Valkyrie was made largely with navigating urban disaster zones in mind,” Angela replies.

“I want to prevent that damage as much as possible. If I can study how the shields here react to the tremendous amounts of force applied to them, perhaps I can find out how to make hard light architecture more durable. And then the next time something like what happened in Oasis happens… at least we won’t have an entire in danger of collapsing.” Satya’s hands falter in their movement. “I was initially so concerned with retrieving equipment to stabilize the building that I lost you in the rush.”

“Satya,” Angela’s eyes grow worried. “Don’t blame yourself for that; I shouldn’t have rushed in on my own like that anyways. And with no equipment too! Still, I—”

“What, you were only kidnapped?” Satya trembles, but she takes a deep breath and steadies herself. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have interrupted. But. _Talon._ ” Her lip curls. “We don’t know what they were trying to do, but I can’t imagine they tied the two of you up and dragged you off for a benign purpose. Things only turned out the way they did because Overwatch and Oasis’ police and fire departments acted so quickly.”

“Ah,” is all Angela can say for a while. She turns back to her own writing. “You have a noble purpose.”

“We can’t expect criminals to act responsibly. If they endanger people with such reckless disregard for life and peace, then I will work to prevent it.” Satya minimizes all her notes and selects one display, blowing it up to cover the entire wall. It’s a diagram of the training room below, mostly blue, with various sections shaded in yellow, orange, or red. A map of the damage it sustained during the last match.

“You… don’t seem to hold Talon in very high regard.” Angela tries to keep her voice casual.

“Why would I?” Satya snorts. “Making sacrifices for a greater good, a better ending… that, I can understand. Chaos for chaos’ sake is madness at best. And you don’t have a very high opinion of them either.”

“No.” Angela looks away again, quietly relieved. “No, I don’t.” She leans over and presses the mic button. “Are we ready?”

Satya resets her diagram and turns to watch. “15 of the world’s best and brightest working against them.” Something flashes; a bit of metal at just the right angle to catch the light, and disappears in a blur. A moment later, sparks start flying. “They can’t win.”

“My, are you counting even McCree? Lúcio?” Angela laughs, but she keeps a sharp eye on the action. She scribbles a quick note as Genji suddenly appears from the shadows, darting in with a streak of green light.

“Jesse McCree is an expert in subterfuge and intelligence operations, and a remarkably good shot. However… unprofessional his personality is.” Satya sounds reluctant to admit it. “Though perhaps I shall lower my count to 14. Lúcio Correia dos Santos’ only notable talents are skating, football, and being a loud annoyance.”

Angela laughs again. “That’s harsh.”

Before Satya can reply, Brigitte’s voice cheerfully interjects, crackling through the comm. “Got you!” Both Satya and Angela turn to look as her flail arcs through the air, curling down and wrapping around Genji’s waist. It snaps down, slamming him into the floor.

“Well done!” Reinhardt booms. “L—” He’s cut off as Winston vaults over a nearby wall and punches him squarely in the chest, sending him skidding across the floor.

“Well there they go.” Angela sits back and sighs. “I was wondering how long it would take before they got into a fistfight.”

Satya turns her head to where Genji has picked himself up and drawn his sword. “A sword against a flail. How uniquely… medieval.”

“What do you think?” Angela tilts her head, following Satya’s gaze. “Who’s going to win, that is? Genji’s good with a sword, but…”

“But it’s a curved sword up against heavy plate,” Satya murmurs. “Lindholm is more likely to win. She landed the first blow besides.” As she says this, Genji darts in, sword shining. Brigitte’s flail meets him, and he retreats.

Angela leans forward, finger on the button again. “No dragons, remember.”

Genji doesn’t reply. He merely crouches and leaps forward again, and this time sword held lower and closer to his body. At the last moment he thrusts it forward. Brigitte, caught off her guard, stumbles back, instinctively raising her shield. The blade pushes through the hard light, sparking, but only grazes her cheek. With her brief moment of opportunity, Brigitte pulls the shield down, directing the sword’s edge towards the ground, and then shoves it forward, slamming Genji in the chest. He goes toppling backwards.

Brigitte awkwardly reaches around and pulls the sword from her shield. She walks over the Genji, smiling, and offers him a hand. He accepts it, and nods as she hands him his sword back.

“He should keep his distance. Wear her down and frustrate her with his shuriken before truly engaging, if at all,” Satya comments. “Neither of his opponents can take a long range fight.”

“But neither can Winston, and I think he feels that he needs to support him,” Angela says. “As it stands, Reinhardt and Brigitte can afford to just ignore him and crush Winston if he doesn’t go in.”

“Perhaps. It’s a difficult situation for him. Your partner would have a much more advantageous match up,” Satya says offhandedly, then picks up a glass of water and takes a drink.

Angela stares at her. “My… partner?”

“Is that not what Fareeha Amari is to you?” Satya looks over, puzzled. “A partner?”

Angela turns away before Satya can see the shy, self-conscious smile flitting on her lips, or the sudden rosiness in her face. “I suppose,” she manages, “you could call us that.”

Satya continues to give her a puzzled look, but eventually looks away, back down into the training room. “You’re missing the duel.”

“Oh, right, sorry.” Angela turns back towards the window and pushes her glasses up her nose. She leans over and begins to write with a certain distracted concentration.

Satya watches her, then turns around to look at her wall of notes and silently shakes her head. “You should ask her out,” she mumbles.

“What?” Angela looks up and over.

“Nothing.” Satya reaches up and begins to highlight areas and lines of text. “Nothing at all. I was merely speaking to myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Satya's count of active agents did not include Bastion, of course.


	36. The Latter Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are delivered when no one's looking. It feels good to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for how long this took, haha ^^

_ “Wait?” She tapped her fingers on the counter. “I’ve waited too long.” _

_ “What else can you do?” His face was impassive, but his voice felt like a cocked eyebrow. “Wait and see what she does. It’s out of your hands now.” _

_ Her expression said what her mouth didn’t. “I don’t like it.” _

_ He snorted. “It was entirely your choice, wasn’t it?” He paused, thoughtfully. “We both know you won’t go back on it.” _

 

* * *

 

“Running off again already?” Fareeha leans on the doorframe and sips her coffee, watching McCree rush about with a look of vague amusement.

“You know I got things to do.” He picks up a sock and gives it a dubious look.

“I hope you’re planning on washing that before you wear it.” A brief flicker of guilt crosses McCree’s face. “I’m surprised Angela’s letting you go. What did you say to her?”

“I promised I’d stay away from the gang for a while. Wait before trying to pick another fight.” McCree gives Fareeha a pout that’s almost convincing. “And here I was planning on running back to say hi to B.O.B.”

“Ashe’s personal defense omnic?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow. “Shame.”

“Hey now, he does a lot more than just defense.” McCree folds his arms.

“Right. The… what was it? Gun arm? Must be for doing the laundry.”

McCree sighs. “Suppose that’s fair.”

“But if you’re not going back to America, where are you going in such a hurry?” Fareeha nods at the suitcase laying open on McCree’s bed.

“Still America, just not the States.” McCree scratches his beard. “That sounded more clever in my head.”

“Sure.”

“Hey now, you try and be cool and witty all the time.”

“I already am.” Fareeha flashes a grin.

McCree stares at her, then chuckles. “Sure you are.”

Fareeha sticks out her tongue. “I don’t know what you’re laughing about. So you’re off to Central America then?”

“Actually, yeah.” McCree cocks his head. “How’d you know?”

Fareeha shrugs. “Lucky guess. I figured Lúcio would be helping out if you were going anywhere in or near Brazil, and I should hope I’d be told if anything’s happening in Canada.”

McCree stops in the middle of folding a slightly crumpled shirt. “Oh, right. Have you talked to your dad recently?”

“I called just before we left for America. Holiday season, you know?” She sighs. “I’d fly back to visit, but things being that way that they are around here…”

“Yeah.” McCree puts the shirt into his case. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s alright.” Fareeha’s smile looks tired. “It’s been quiet up there, compared to the rest of the world at least.”

“That’s good.” McCree taps his fingers, metal clicking against the bed frame. “Have you, uh, told him about…” Fareeha gives him a curious look. He clears his throat. “Ana?”

Fareeha’s eyes darken. The coffee suddenly seems a bit too bitter. “What about her?”

McCree raises his hands. “I didn’t mean to pry, but—”

“But that’s what you do, isn’t it?”

“You were really upset. I got worried.”

“No, I haven’t told him. However I feel about it, it’s not my choice. It’s hers.” Fareeha’s voice is flat.

“You think he knows?”

“No.” Fareeha’s response is swift. “I’m sure of that at least.”

“You don’t think he could be in the same situation as you?”

“I still have some faith in my mother,” Fareeha snaps. “Even after all this, I don’t believe that she would do that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” McCree murmurs. “Sorry.”

The anger drains as fast as it came. Fareeha’s shoulders droop. “I know.” She takes a deep breath. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just been… rough. I find it easier to not think about it.”

“Can’t avoid it forever.” McCree’s voice is quiet. “I think she means well.”

“I know,” Fareeha repeats. She lifts a hand to idly comb through her hair, running her fingers over the copper and gold. Her hand drops. “Anyways, what did you need?”

“Oh, uh…” McCree scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “Could you… help me… break into the doc’s room?”

Fareeha stares at him. “What.”

“The doc. Angela. Her room.”

“No, I know what you’re talking about.” Fareeha’s eyes narrow. “Why?”

“She stole some things.”

“What?”

“Like my backup whiskey. Waste of good bourbon if it stays in her possession.” McCree shakes his head. “More importantly,” he points at an empty desk. “She stole my hat.”

Fareeha closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she’s a heartless monster?” McCree’s eyes go wide and mournful. When Fareeha remains unmoved, he sighs. “She might have caught me getting blackout drunk in the commons last night.”

“So you deserve it.” 

“Aw come on ‘Reeha, I’m leaving today, I need to get it back.” McCree goes back to making puppy eyes. “You wouldn’t have me going out there without my hat right?”

Fareeha stares him down for a few more moments, then relents. She shoves her hand in her pocket. “You know that she’ll know exactly who did it, right?”

“Sure, but I’ll be halfway to Mexico by then!” McCree replies cheerfully. “It’s not like she’s going to kick  _ your  _ ass.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fareeha scowls at him. “And why did you assume that I could get you in anyways?”

“Because you clearly can.”

Fareeha glares at him, but makes her way down the hall all the same, circling around to the nearest stairwell, finishing off her coffee as she goes. She looks around as she approaches Angela’s door. Aside from McCree, the hall is empty.

“Are you sure she’s not home?” Fareeha looks around again. “Not in her room, rather?”

“You know the doc, she’s been holed up in the office all day.” McCree jerks a thumb over his shoulder.

Fareeha scans the area one last time, then produces a card from her pocket. She holds it up to the sensor, and the door unlocks. McCree watches with interest. “Well now. Why do you have a key to the doctor’s room, hm?”

Fareeha stiffens, suddenly realizing what it looked like. “It’s not like—I was—” She whirls on him. “I thought you already assumed that I’d have one.”

“‘Cool’ and ‘witty’ all the time, huh?” McCree grins. “I was actually expecting you to go ask her for a key or something. Didn’t think you’d already have one.”

Fareeha points through the door into the dark room beyond. “Shut up. Get in, get your hat, get out.”

“Sure thing.” McCree slips inside, Spurs jingling slightly. He returns quickly, brushing off his signature wide-brimmed hat. He sets it on his head with a contented look. “You two back to training together yet?”

“In the afternoon.” Fareeha pushes him fully out of the doorway and closes the door. “Speaking of training,” she says, looking down the hall, “I need to go.”

“Thanks for the help.”  McCree tips his hat, earning him an eye roll. “Give my regards to the doc, will you?”

 

* * *

 

Angela stares at the envelope on her desk. It’s yellow, unmarked. Innocuous. She had found it in one of her drawers. It had not been there the night before. “Athena,” Angela says, not taking her eyes off of the thing, “what is this?”

“An envelope, Dr. Ziegler. It appears to be digitally sealed, coded for one person in particular.”

“Like our doors?” Looking closer, Angela can now see the small chip over the flap. 

“Correct,” Athena replies.

“Who is it from?”

Athena hesitates. “Security footage shows nothing, nor were there any unusual thermal signatures in the area.” She pauses again. “Dr. Ziegler, my scans indicate that aside from the seal, there is only standard letter paper and ink in it. However, I would advise you to treat it with caution. It is an unknown package from an unknown source.”

Angela reaches forward, touches it lightly with her fingertips. She waits. No reaction. Her fingers move to the seal, and it suddenly lights up purple. A hologram of a stylized skull dances in the air above it, almost as if mocking her. Angela recoils, and the skull disappears. “I should just burn it.”

“It may provide some useful information, indirectly or not,” Athena hums. “If you do decide to destroy it, please keep it well away from the control room.”

Angela eyes the envelope and reaches forward again. As soon as she gets near the seal, the skull reappears. “Yeah yeah,” she mutters to herself. She presses her fingers to the seal, her other hand reaching around to hook under the flap. It lifts with ease, seal and skull dissolving at her touch. Angela stands back and waits. Nothing. 

Angela returns to her desk and carefully tips the envelope’s contents onto its surface. A thin file and a small note slip out. Angela checks the envelope to make sure that’s all there is, then picks up the note. It’s written in a loose scrawl.

 

_ “Thought you might want to take a look at these. I got you everything that I could without getting caught. See what you make of it.  _

_ Should go without saying but you never know with you self righteous types. Don’t tell anyone about any of this. Don’t upload it digitally anywhere. No matter how much you trust it.  _

_ PS: Hope you appreciate how much I’ve stuck out my neck for you and your… pals. Don’t count on it in the future.” _

 

Angela flips it over. Blank. As expected, it’s unsigned. She frowns, and pulls the file over. There are about a dozen pages of paper in it, each covered front and back with small text and diagrams. The footnotes are crammed with notes and annotations, each with a corresponding number.

“Subject 288.00…” she murmurs under her breath, eyes scanning over the first page’s title. The writing is dry, complicated, long-winded, and packed with niche, undefined terms, as difficult to read and nigh-incomprehensible as academic writing was wont to be and then some. Angela pulls a notepad out of another drawer and a pen and a pair of glasses out of her pocket. She unfolds her glasses, perches them on the end of her nose, and begins to read.

 

* * *

 

“Woah, that’s an intense look.” Brigitte walks up behind Fareeha, her pace slow and easy. When Fareeha doesn’t react, she looks over her shoulder. “You alright?”

Fareeha blinks and shakes her head. She turns her head, hair falling to block Brigitte’s view. “Fine.” She reaches to pull the door closed, but stops. “Did you need something?”

“No, I was just passing by.” Brigitte throws another curious glance into Fareeha’s room, but doesn’t pry. “I left a few things in my room.”

“Ah.” Fareeha turns away again. “New project?”

“Always.” Brigitte beams. “By the way, we were talking about a tune-up to your suit, weren’t we? I think I finally have enough time.”

Fareeha stops and gives Brigitte an apologetic look. “I just restarted flight drills with Angela…”

Brigitte shrugs. “Alright then. Let me know if the situation changes. Have a nice afternoon.” She shoves her hands in her pockets and begins to wander off down the hall.

“You as well,” Fareeha murmurs, before opening her door again.

Brigitte turns just before Fareeha slips through. “Oh! One last thing! Are you free to hit the gym tomorrow?”

“Hm?” Fareeha leans back, poking her head through the door. “I should be free in the morning.”

“Great!” Brigitte gives her a thumbs up. “Reinhardt’s challenged me, and if I intend to beat him, I need to train.”

Fareeha smiles at this. “Beat Reinhardt? Are you sure?”

Brigitte grins in response. “He’s big, but he’s old! I think I can do it.”

“Don’t let him catch you saying that.” Fareeha nods “I’ll come spot for you. 5:30?”

Brigitte makes a face. “Always an early bird, huh?” She sighs good-naturedly. “Sure, 5:30 works.”

Fareeha inclines her head. “I’ll see you then.” She looks over her shoulder back into her room.

Brigitte hesitates, then takes a few steps back towards her. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Fareeha shrugs unconvincingly. “It’s nothing.”

“Maybe you should wait a bit, if you can. Until after dinner.” Brigitte offers her best reassuring smile. “I find it’s easier to deal with… unpleasant things on a full stomach.”

Fareeha looks over her shoulder again, then takes a deep breath and steps back out into the hall. “That might be a good idea. I’ll go… find something else to do. The firing range, maybe.” Her eyes betray some nervousness, skittering from one thing to another, never lingering for long. “Steady my hands,” she mutters under her breath.

“Good luck.” Brigitte’s voice is soft. She’s not talking about the aim training. Fareeha just nods and begins to make her way down the hall in the opposite direction, pulling her hair up and tying it back away from her face as she goes.

Fareeha spends the next hour or so of the early evening in the range, alone save for Athena’s quiet supervision. Her finds her mind wandering, repeatedly having to be prodded back into focusing on the task at hand. She idly notices that it’s been a little bit too long since she last actually fired a gun. A pistol doesn’t quite match the kickback, light, and sound she’d come to expect from rockets. She shakes her head.  _ Focus. _

The time blurs after that. Walking and eating don’t take a lot of focus, and a distracted haze settles over Fareeha’s mind. She vaguely remembers entering the mess hall, exchanging some quiet pleasantries, sitting down, and eating for some indefinite time. Rice and vegetables. A glass of water that started out cold, and ended up mildly cool, the sparse ice cubes melting quickly with the warmth of the room. Overlapping conversations that Fareeha quickly tunes out.

“Hey.” A pause, and then, louder, “Hello in there? Fareeha?”

“Mmhm.” Fareeha mumbles. It takes her a moment to snap back into focus. She looks over. “What? Did someone say my name?”

“Yeesh, you really are out of it, aren’t you?” Hana crosses her arms. “Did something happen at practice?”

Fareeha’s brow furrows. “No. Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been really quiet. I mean, I’m not saying that you’re usually loud, but…” She gestures in the air as if to say “You know what I mean”.

Lúcio pipes up from Hana’s other side. “Plus, Angela’s not here. She hasn’t even stopped by to grab a plate.”

Fareeha blinks and looks up and around, scanning over the heads of everyone at the table. They’re right, she realizes. Angela is nowhere to be seen, and thinking back, her bright, patient voice had been absent throughout the evening. Fareeha eventually returns her attention to her plate. “She does this sometimes. New research is my best guess.”

“Didn’t she just finish something?” It’s a rhetorical question. Everyone knows that there’s always more work to be done. Lúcio drums his fingers on the table top. “I guess we shouldn’t bother her then.”

Fareeha raises her eyebrow along with her cup. “Bother her?” She takes a sip.

Reinhardt leans over. “They were conspiring to harass the good doctor about… what did you call it?”

“Nevermind that!” Hana cheerfully kicks Reinhardt under the table. “And we weren’t going to harass her, we were just going to ask a few things.”

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind too much,” Fareeha says. The look on Hana’s face makes her think she’s going to get an earful from Angela later.

“Ha!” Reinhardt’s chuckle rumbles dryly through the air. “She has enough of a headache dealing with the lot of us on the field! We’d best not drive away the only real doctor we have!”

“You know she loves us.” Hana looks over at Fareeha, eyes twinkling.

Fareeha snorts. “Sure.”

“Hm, yes, very convincing.” Reinhardt squints dubiously, then allows a wide grin to spread across his face. He sits back. “Ah, she is too good natured. From the way Torbjörn puts it, any sensible person would have left us to face the consequences of running head first into battle on our own.” He waves cheerfully at Torbjörn, seated further down the table.

“Then let’s be glad that she’s not an entirely sensible person.” Fareeha barely suppresses her smile as she finishes her water. “Otherwise she’d be here, enjoying the food.”

“I hear you!” Brigitte raises her cup in a toast. “This is good! Who cooked tonight? Lúcio?”

Lucio nods. “Yep! Glad you like it.”

“I love it.” Brigitte shovels some more onto her plate. “You should teach me sometime!”

“Teach you to cook?”

“Yeah!” Brigitte pauses to chew thoughtfully. “Well, I mean, I can cook, but it’s always interesting to try new things. Most of us aren’t half bad at cooking, I think.”

Hana snorts. “Speak for yourself. Fareeha?”

Fareeha half raises her hand off the table in acknowledgement. “I’m better than my mom… was.”

“Not difficult, all things considered,” Reinhardt comments.

Fareeha manages a small smile at that, and stands up. “Well, if you’re all going to start swapping recipes, I’m off.”

“I, for one, want to know more.” Hana leans forward. Brigitte gives Fareeha a quick glance and turns to reply to her, that section of the table becoming quickly engrossed in an intense discussion about the finer points of the culinary arts.

Fareeha tries to hold the warmth of good food and good company in her body as she slowly ambles through the halls, her footsteps slowing as she reaches her own door. The nameplate shines dimly up at her.  _ Amari. _ She lays one hand on the handle, takes a deep breath, and turns it. The door opens with a sigh, the darkness beyond only slightly illuminated by dim light creeping through the half-shuttered window. Fareeha flicks the lights on with one finger.

The paper is right where she left it: on the floor, as if it had been slipped surreptitiously under the door. It’s slightly yellowed and weathered, its creases worn soft, its corners shredded. There are a few faint smudges and stains of reddish gold and grainy tan. Desert sand. The paper is achingly familiar. 

Fareeha picks it up, takes a deep breath to steel herself, and unfolds it, brushing a few particles of dirt off of it. Her mother’s familiar handwriting greets her, dark ink stark against the paper. She spends a long time staring at it before she finally begins to read. It’s a short message. She reads it again. And again.

“Fareeha?” The voice is quiet, familiar. Fareeha hasn’t heard it all day. 

There’s a few moments of silence, and then the soft sound of feet slowly entering the room. Angela’s touch is feather-light on her arm.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Fareeha whispers. She can almost feel Angela’s eyes slide over and settle on the letter in her hands.

Angela doesn’t reply. Her touch withdraws, the sudden lack of warmth leaving a cool spot on Fareeha’s skin. A heartbeat passes, and then, shyly, Angela speaks. “Do you want a hug? Or-or something,” she mumbles.

Fareeha refolds the paper and shoves it in her pocket. She turns around and looks down at Angela. Angela looks askance, a touch of rosiness in her cheeks. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” She breaks off with a surprised gasp as Fareeha leans down and wraps her arms around her, pulling her close with a sudden tightness and intensity that takes her breath away. Fareeha’s just tall enough to lift her slightly off her feet. She buries her face in Angela’s hair, loose around her shoulders. Angela can hear the shakiness in her breath. She wraps her arms around Fareeha in turn and gives her a squeeze. Fareeha exhales slowly, melting into her touch.

They stay like that for a few more minutes, enjoying each others’ warmth and closeness. Fareeha’s breathing evens out. She eventually sets Angela back down on the balls of her feet and slowly lets go, one hand lingering at her side before dropping. “Thanks.” The word feels lame in the small space between them. Fareeha tries again. “Thank you. I needed that.”

Angela smiles and catches her hand as it falls, giving it another reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Any time. I’m glad to help.”

Fareeha steps back and looks away, reaching up to finger the gold in her hair. “By the way,” she says, “if you were wondering what it said… It wasn’t much. But at least she’s trying.” She closes her eyes, her voice softening to a whisper. “It’s just vague enough for me to wonder if there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

“That would be like her, wouldn’t it?” Angela’s words are gentle.

Fareeha snorts. “It would.” She sighs and sits down on the edge of her bed and leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees. She talks to the floor as much as to Angela. “I don’t know. She had her reasons, and even if I don’t understand all of them, I understand  _ some _ of them. And it’s not that I don’t love her, but…” She trails off, steadies herself, and presses on, even quieter. “She was gone for so long that I’m not  sure I need her in my life anymore. And she left so many broken pieces that I’m not sure I  _ want  _ her in my life anymore.”

Angela is quiet for a while. “She would want you to be happy, of that I have no doubt. And far be it from me to tell you what to do.” She pauses to collect her thoughts. “You know best how you feel about it. Trust in that.”

“I guess.” Fareeha contemplates the floor for another minute or so, and then, as if snapping out of a trance, looks up curiously. “Your hair’s down.”

“And your’s is up.” Angela laughs. “I’ve mostly been in the office all day, so I can afford to take the band out to fiddle with it. It feels good anyways, after a long enough time. Letting your hair loose, that is.”

“Hm. Have I ever told you that it’s cute when you do that?”

“No, but I could say the same for you.” Angela laughs again. “Did we accidentally switch hair for a day?”

Fareeha shrugs and makes a so-so motion with one hand. “Close enough.” She echoes Angela’s smile. “Were you looking for me? Did you need something?”

“Ah, I was just…” Angela gestures vaguely behind her. Her voice lowers. “I… found something. It seems important, but it’s all buried in such a mountain of vague wording and double meanings, that, well.” She shakes her head. “I hate to suddenly back out so soon after we started, but, well, I need extra time to focus on it, as it were.”

“Ah. I see,” Fareeha says. She shrugs. “It can’t be helped then. I’ve been looking for an opportunity to have the Lindholms take a look at the suit anyways.” She pulls the letter back out of her pocket and runs a thumb over its creases. “It seems we both have some things to decipher.”

“I suppose we do.” Angela glances down at the paper, a slight frown flickering across the corner of her lips. “In any case, I think we both need to… take care.”

Fareeha looks up sharply. She raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

Angela looks over her shoulder again. She backtracks and closes the door. “I can’t say my new project came from a trustworthy source.”

“Is that right?” Fareeha opens the letter again, scans it over. “The paper, the handwriting, and the tone match her.”

Angela shrugs. “Just be careful, alright?”

Fareeha considers this, the words staring up at her. Abruptly, she catches Angela’s eye. “Are you free right now?”

“Am I—” Angela blinks. “I suppose I’m taking a break.”

“I was wondering if you could…” Fareeha glances towards the drawer where she had shoved the other letter, so long ago. “Listen. I said a lot of things before.” She takes a deep breath. “When the other one… you know. I didn’t mean everything that I said, but I think it is true that you and everyone she worked with knew a different side of her than I did. And you know a little bit more about what happened after she went missing than most. Could you try and help me understand? At least a little bit more?”

“I…” Fareeha turns her eyes back towards Angela, gaze sharp and piercing. Angela sighs. “I told you everything that I knew about her recent history, but if you think I can help…” She dips her head. “I would be glad.”

Fareeha’s eyes soften, then become quizzical. “Have you eaten?”

Angela thinks for a little bit too long. “Ah,” she says, “I forgot about that.”

“You forgot about—” Fareeha closes her eyes in exasperation. “What are you still doing here? It’s late! Take care of yourself!”

“But—”

“Your well-being comes first.” Fareeha waves her hand. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere.”

“Alright, alright.” Angela raises her hands in resignation. “I’ll be right back.”

“Shoo.” Fareeha watches her leave, and returns her attention to the paper. The night is quiet.

Angela’s back much sooner than Fareeha would have thought. She holds up a small plate. “Mind if I just take this in?”

“No problem.” As Angela begins to make her way towards the lone chair, Fareeha holds up a finger “Wait.” She leans over, pulls open her top drawer, and starts to rummage around inside. “I need something to keep my hands busy… if it’s okay with you… can you… sit on the floor? I added another rug.” Her voice trails off into an embarrassed squeak at the end.

Angela looks down and laughs. “So you did!” She sits down, crossing her legs, and puts her plate in her lap. She reaches out to touch the soft, pale yellow rug, back turned to the bed. “I wonder how I didn’t notice…” Her eyes sparkle in the light.

Fareeha pauses to watch her, and goes back to searching through her drawer, the clatter of several small objects being pushed around resuming for a few moments. It breaks off, followed by a muted scrape as she closes the drawer. Angela listens to the shuffling of her moving around, but mostly focuses on her food.

She tenses up when Fareeha sits down behind her. When she feels her light touch on her hair, her heart skips a beat. “If it’s okay with you,” she repeats, her words a soft murmur on the back of Angela’s neck, “I just thought… can I braid your hair?”

Angela smiles so wide it hurts. “Certainly. Though I’m afraid I can’t give you much to work with.”

“That’s fine.” Fareeha sets some things down. Angela turns her head just slightly to catch a glimpse of the golden glint. “The jewelry can take a bit anyways. This set, at least.” Her fingers are deft but shy, combing through, picking out a length of hair to start with. “You can take it out later. If you want.”

“Mm.” Angela hums. “Take your time.” She goes back to eating, trying not to move her head around too much.

Fareeha smoothes down the hair, running her fingers through it over and over, trying to think of something to say. Angela finally breaks the silence. “Are those band posters?”

“Hm?” Fareeha looks up, towards the opposite wall. “Oh, yeah. They’re old, but…” She shrugs. “I’ve always liked music.”

“Who doesn’t?” Angela pauses to savor a bit of her late dinner. “Do you play?”

“What?”

“An instrument, I mean.”

Fareeha snorts. “Oh, just because I have some music posters hung up, I just play an instrument?”

“No! I just thought—I mean, it doesn’t mean you  _ don’t _ .”

Fareeha laughs. “I’m teasing. I do, actually. Guitar.”

“Do you actually?” Angela half turns again, then quickly faces forward again.

“You sound incredulous. I’m a little bit offended.” Fareeha sniffs, but a grin breaks out across her face. “Yes actually, though not very well.”

“You should hear me sing.” Angela laughs, her shoulders shaking.

“You sing?”

“My point exactly! Moira once caught me at it when I thought no one was around to hear. She would not let me live that one down.” She sighs.

“I think your voice would be nice. Singing, I mean.” Fareeha eyes her work so far, then undoes it and starts over.

Angela laughs again. “Well then, shall we start a band together? You’ve already dragged me into interior decorating.”

“Those aren’t related at all!” Fareeha pokes Angela playfully in the back. “And it’s not even ‘interior decorating’, it’s just ‘making sure your living space isn’t relentlessly depressing’.”

“Ouch.” Angela’s voice takes on a mock hurt tone. “Now I’m a little bit offended. More importantly, I think that still counts as interior decorating.” 

“You might as well accuse me of forcing you into gardening.”

“Yes, I might as well.”

“One plant does not constitute a garden, Angela. You’d have to get more.”

“Hm…” Angela redirects her attention to Fareeha’s windowsill. “I’ll think about it, if I can slip the requisitions past Winston.”

“You want to  _ requisition  _ them?”

“It’s the not the worst abuse of the budget we’ve ever had.” Angela shrugs. “Gabe used to rip Genji and McCree a new one every so often for trying to requisition, among other things, whiskey, blowtorches, and snakes.”

“Live snakes?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“Quite. Something about feeling bad for them because they don’t have arms.”

“And how do you know this? I thought Blackwatch was strictly secretive?”

“They—Genji and McCree that is—told me about the latest developments whenever I saw them. Which was frequently, might I add. Neither had very much common sense, and between the two of them, even less impulse control. Neither liked Moira much either. They preferred to see me even after she was transferred, much to her chagrin.”

“Was she offended by that?” Fareeha pauses. “She doesn’t seem like the type.”

“She’s a proud woman, and was doubly insulted that she didn’t get to study Genji in particular as much as she wanted to.” Angela shrugs again. “I consider it an added bonus. Well, once Gabe realized they were telling me anyways, he started dragging me into it because apparently my disappointment weighed more than his.” She pauses, considers broaching the subject, continues carefully. “McCree at least was usually on his best behavior at headquarters though. I believe he was afraid of getting caught by Ana. Or sent to her, rather.”

Fareeha snorts. “Did he? Ever get caught by her?”

“Caught by Gabe and dragged down to her office, at least once or twice. From what I hear she once looked him in the eyes, picked up a gun, and told him to run. He ran for his life, and she just watched him go. Then she told Gabriel to get out of her office before she shoves a rifle up his… you get the point.” Angela pauses to take a thoughtful sip of water. “When I heard, all I could say was  _ ‘why’ _ . She assured me that the gun was a plastic replica, apologized for any trouble it might have caused, and then cheerfully told me that McCree was a reckless, wild little idiot and that it was pretty funny to watch him run laps around the entire building.”

“Hm. That sounds about right.” Fareeha chuckles. “He taught me to curse, you know. In English at least. I wasn’t there, but I think Jesse’s life flashed before his eyes the next time they saw each other.”

“Jesse McCree.” Angela sighs. “Always getting into trouble. At least he  _ tries _ to keep a low profile these days.”

“Genji has changed quite a bit as well, from what I've been told.”

“Certainly. Hanzo reminds quite a bit of Genji’s former self. He only ever talked to maybe three people and spent most of his time either brooding in the shadows, glowering at everyone, or both.” Angela’s voice softens. “I always thought it was my fault he was so angry. I was the one that put him through all that; I could have refused to do the operation, it was well within my power. He never blamed me, and still doesn’t. He’s a good friend. They both are. Those two were the ones that first tipped me off that something was very wrong, in the later year or so.”

“How so?” Fareeha reaches over and plucks a gold ring from the small pile on the floor. She holds it up and considers it.

“Genji left when it became clear that Blackwatch was no longer dealing with the Shimadas. He showed up late one night and asked me to switch his parts out to a prototype set, one that didn’t have associations with either Blackwatch or Overwatch. He disappeared into the after that, and aside from the occasional letter, I didn’t see him again until the recall.

“What really made me start to worry was when McCree resigned. Genji was out for revenge at the time, I thought he just left to better pursue that. But McCree never seemed particularly interested in going out of his way to pick a fight with his old gang. He always stayed on out of loyalty to Gabriel, a fierce sense of justice, and a genuine desire for redemption. If he was leaving, then either he had lost faith in his commander, or in Blackwatch’s ability to do good, or both. He wouldn’t say what it was about, so I started pulling out every single bit of authority, every single administrator permission and rank privilege that I had at my disposal, and I dug around.”

“And the rest is history,” Fareeha murmurs. She sets the ring down and picks up another one, thinner this time.

Angela is quiet for a long time. “I had the most access to the medical files, of course, so I was only able to guess at a few things. The official investigation confirmed a lot of my suspicions in the end.” She clears her throat. “Things were… tense in those last few years. Blackwatch was conducting riskier missions and getting caught, Overwatch was under a lot of pressure and was spreading itself too thin, Talon was a new threat that we underestimated, and various major governments were being uncooperative. When Ana went missing… that was the tipping point, I think. She was always the steadiest of the original group. We fell apart in her absence.”

“Everyone did.” Fareeha takes a deep, slow breath, and begins to the thread the golden ornament into Angela’s hair. She forces her hands to be steady. “And now she’s back. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t even know what I’d say, if I could talk to her.”

“Telling her how you feel would be a good start,” Angela replies. “She didn’t leave you a way to find her?”

“As far as I can tell? No. She said she’s moving around, and didn’t elaborate further.”

“She’ll be looking for trouble, then. Places of unrest, where she can help out.” Angela sighs. “That doesn’t narrow it down much, but hopefully those places are on Overwatch’s radar. I truly think you should find her and have a conversation.”

Fareeha is quiet for a long time, her attention turning to threading beads of gold and copper through Angela’s hair. “Perhaps,” she says at last. Then hesitantly, “Did you ever fight alongside her?”

“Yes, but not often. She didn’t have a chance to work with it for long, but especially after Torbjörn put together a biotic rifle and gave it to her, we rarely worked together in the field. She could act as emergency medical assistance with the rifle, meaning I was almost always needed more elsewhere.” Angela’s voice takes on a sharper edge at the mention of the biotic rifle.

Fareeha pauses to touch Angela on the shoulder sympathetically. “Can you tell me about it?” Her eyes flick  to the clock. “Actually, it’s late…”

“If I can help…” Angela reaches up behind her and pats Fareeha’s cheek. “I don’t mind staying up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, hair braiding, the universal bonding experience... right?


	37. The Former Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, master of de-escalation... or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, breaking out the spray bottle: Alright come on hurry up stop flirting and kiss already

That’s rare _, he thought. Two figures stood among the cots of the first aid station, set apart from the swarm of activity by a still, thoughtful air. One was tall and knife-like, clad in blacks and reds. She stood with her hands clasped loosely behind her back, looming like a crane over everyone around her. The other was shorter, dressed in sweeping blue and white, holding a pen and clipboard and gesturing occasionally as her companion nodded. Every so often a runner came by to grab the attention of the shorter one, who turned, exchanged a few words, pointed at some things, and sent them on their way. None of them talked to the one in red and black; rather they seem to give her as wide of a berth as possible._

_After some time, the taller woman turned to watch the latest runner go, a look of distaste plain on her face. She said something, but the other only chuckled lightly and shrugged. Genji couldn’t hear her reply, only see her lips moving slightly before she turned away to point at something on the body of whoever was in the cot before them. The other followed her reluctantly, but seemed to drop the subject quickly. She lifted a thoughtful finger to her lips, the woman in blue tilting her head to listen._

_“Is that the doc? And… the doc?” Genji turned his head as McCree sidled up. “Both of them?” He pulled his cigarette from his lips and tapped off the ash. “Ain’t trying to kill each other today, huh?”_

_“They are not arguing as much as usual.” Genji glowered at Dr. O’Deorain’s back. He would have much preferred just Angela. As if Moira could feel his contempt, she turned around._

_Angela looked up and over her shoulder, following Moira’s gaze. The space was empty. She tilted her head. “What are you looking at?”_

_“Oh,” Moira’s voice was dry. “Nothing important.”_

 

* * *

 

“This is…” Angela mutters to herself, ink stains on the tips of her fingers. She rubs the bags under her eyes and squints. “Is it..?” She hesitates and reaches out to tap her phone.

“Hello?” Mei picks up faster than Angela would have expected. “Dr. Ziegler?”

“Mei, hello!” Angela tries to perk up. “How are you?”

“Good! Or as good as I can be. It’s been busy.” She sighs, and Angela can imagine her puffing her cheeks out in irritation. “I mean, I understand that there’s been fighting, but all the waste! The average temperatures now compared with just 5 years ago… oh, but I shouldn’t ramble. Did you need something?”

“Oh no, I’m glad to hear it! I’m glad you’re doing well.” Angela waves her hand. “Well, I hate to ask, I know it’s a very sensitive subject, but regarding your research…” Her voice becomes gentle. “Or the research of your peers at the ecopoint, rather…”

“Oh.” Mei’s voice instantly becomes more subdued. “Oh, well, I didn’t take all the data; there wasn’t enough functioning hardware… and I was carrying everything that I could, you know…”

“I understand,” Angela says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Mei takes a deep breath. “I did retrieve some. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Yes, I’m interested in the cryogenic freezing process.” Angela’s eyes flicker back to the page. “And its effects on the body.”

“Ah, right, okay.” Mei clears her throat. “Well, I got a lot of that data, and refined some of the techniques with the freezing fluid for emergency preservations…”

“You have? That’s quite impressive.” Angela drums her fingers on her desk. “Well, I’d be grateful for whatever you have.”

“Certainly. Er, I think it’s in the database… if I just give you access… I don’t think I’ll be able to do that until tonight or tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s fine.” Angela shakes her head, even though Mei can’t see. “I always have more to do.” She hesitates. “Mei, when do you plan on returning to the watchpoint next?”

“When..?” Mei pauses, thinking. “I’m not sure.”

“Ah, I hate to continue with the painful subject, but we should reclaim the ecopoint sometime, and the sooner the better. I don’t think anyone would be comfortable with doing that without you here.”

“Well I hate to pull you all away from your work… there’s been a lot going on around the world, and Antarctica is very far away…” Her voice is weak.

“Mei, be kinder to yourself! We need to at least give them a proper burial, frankly it’s shameful that we haven’t already.” Angela shakes her head again. “Besides, we do need to recover the rest of the data.”

Mei is quiet for a long time. “It means a lot,” she says finally. “And I would very much like to go back, and at least… see what happened, um, look at everything with fresh eyes I guess. I’ve been a little bit selfish, feeling like I’m not ready to go back. Winston has actually talked to me about it, but I told him that I had urgent things to attend to… I’ll try, Dr. Ziegler. I’ll… try to finish this up, and go back.”

“Stay safe, Mei. Remember, call if you need anything.”

“Yes, thank you.” There’s a shuffling sound. “I will let you know when I can give you the data.”

“Much appreciated.”

 

* * *

 

“Oh!” The word slips out before Fareeha can stop it.

Angela cocks her head. “Oh?”

Fareeha points at her hair. “You kept it.”

Angela laughs. It’s good to see; she’s looked so tired all day. “I suppose I did! I promise I’ll give them back at the end of the day.” Her fingers pick out and run down the braid. “You’re good at this.”

“You sound surprised.” Fareeha’s fingers go to her own hair. “I’ve been doing it every day for a long time.”

“Not surprised, just happy.” Angela beams, then gestures with her head towards the door. “Come on, we can’t chatter away all of our practice time.”

“Right.” Fareeha pulls her helmet lower, the cupping the curving visor in her palm. “Let’s go.”

As soon as they get into the sky, Fareeha turns to look over the sea, then down to Angela. “What do you think of the weather today?”

“The weather?” Angela twists to look around, taking note of the sky. “It seems okay right now, but it looks like a storm is coming in.”

Fareeha follows her gaze towards the long streaks of jets criss-crossing the sky. “Right, there’s a cold front coming off the water. With any luck, we’ll be warmed up by then. I was thinking we need to practice flying in less than ideal conditions.” She holds up a hand. “And before you say anything, I know it’s dangerous, but this is the best situation we could ask for. It shouldn’t be too big of a storm, and Athena’s keeping an eye out.”

“Well then,” Angela says, swivelling her wings, “I do need to brush up on it. Can’t go getting locked down every time the winds get a little bit fast.”

“That’s the spirit.” Fareeha looks down again and frowns. “By the way, do you not have a visor?”

“No, as much as I’d like to, it interferes with some of the systems.” Angela taps her headgear. “Call it a design flaw.”

“Honestly, I would have thought Torbjörn would have made you do things differently.” Fareeha drifts a little bit higher. “Be careful. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Warm up first, remember?” Angela subtly shifts her wings. “Diagonals?”

Fareeha nods. “Then drops.”

“Ah, you’re relentless.” Angela laughs can cuts a smooth arc through the air. “Alright, let’s change it up a little bit.” Her gun sends a bright charge down towards the cliffs. Fareeha obligingly drops. Angela follows her, pulling up short as Fareeha climbs higher again.

“Cutting it close.” Fareeha hovers to the side and watches Angela.

“I know what I’m doing.” Angela turns her head a little bit, observing the clouds building in the sky.

The rain starts slow and warm, but builds quickly into cold grey sheets sweeping in from the sea. The two stay away from the cliffs, wary of the drafts and winds carving up the sheer rock faces. Angela shakes out her hair and squints into the driving rain, the world blurring into grey-blue clouds. The watchpoint and cliffs lighter, the sea dark. Her wings are wet and heavy.

“Down a little.” Fareeha’s warm voice cuts through the rush of icy water. Angela folds her wings and drops, and suddenly the wind lightens up. She breathes a sigh of relief, just as a gust blows her off course. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” Angela spreads her wings, light lancing dimly through the droplets. She catches another air current to realign herself and shakes the water out of her eyes again. “Thank you.” Another burst of cold wind cuts through the air, Angela extending her wings and angling her shoulders as soon as she feels it, preemptively stabilizing herself.

“To the right, up a little bit. I’m here.” Angela turns her head, spots the glow of Fareeha’s jets. Her wings flick out for a heartbeat and retracts, carrying herself lightly up and to the right. Again, she finds herself in a pocket of calm air, with enough time to catch her breath.

“You’re good at this.”

“Glad to hear it.” Fareeha appears in the corner of Angela’s vision, rain sliding slick off of her visor. “Up?”

“Roger that.” Angela’s wings extend again, the tips of her light feeling out the air currents. She finds and rolls into an updraft, shooting up, leaving Fareeha behind.

She realizes Fareeha’s laughing as she follows, once again appearing in the corner of Angela’s vision. “That’s new!”

“Is it?” Angela tilts her head. “Maybe I should take the lead more often.” As she says this, another sharp gust of wind catches her and throws her to the side. Fareeha starts laughing again. “Shut up.”

“Alright, alright. But let’s back off, I don’t want to get too close to the sea.”

“You’re closer to the sea than I am.” Angela lights up again, as a little guiding light that Fareeha can align with her visor.

Fareeha drifts closer. “Right, well, watch for the downdrafts.” As she speaks, a powerful wind from the top of the storm tears down to the bottom, just clipping Fareeha. She hovers away. “Like that.”

Angela takes a deep breath. “Alright, so drops, then finer maneuvers, do you think?” She wavers again, trying not to get pushed too far away.

“Right.” Fareeha doesn’t quite cut her jets, rather flickering them to stabilize herself. Angela, with somewhat more fine control, shifts her wings around for a descent as controlled as she can get it. It’s rocky, but not bad, and she stays well clear of both the cliffs and the watchpoint.

The winds are rowdy, but the airspace is clear. Angela finds herself laughing again as she carves curves and loops through the air. It’s a rollercoaster of a series of maneuvers, tugged and pulled this way and that by the winds. She’s glad she had a light lunch. Fareeha, for her part, is glad to hear Angela laugh.

“Fareeha!” Angela’s staff flicks to life, sending feathery tingles up Fareeha’s spine. “Are you going to just hover around all day?”

“I’m—” Fareeha breaks off and blinks as Angela darts by again, appearing as flash of gold in her vision. “Was that a challenge?”

“I don’t know,” Angela, wings spread and she turns with remarkable grace. “Is it?”

“You’re awful.” Fareeha tilts her head and dives down, tapered helmet cleaving the air with ease. She flips around and resumes her hover, wind rushing past her cheeks and tousling her hair. She shakes water off of her face and allows herself to be pulled to the side. The electric tingle of Angela’s staff races up her spine again.

“Wait, do that again!” Angela’s voice sounds in her ear. “You know what I’m thinking about, right?”

“I got you.” Fareeha begins to make a spiral up through the rain. She can just barely hear the flick of Angela’s wings through the drumming of the rain on her visor. She can feel the water weighing her down and the cold in her fingers and face, but she doesn’t mind.

Angela whoops as Fareeha dips into another dive and follows her, streaks of blue and gold light arcing through the sky. The mood is contagious, Fareeha putting a slight spiral on her descent, sliding against the winds instead of pulling. She pulls up exhilarated, her breath in her cheeks, eyes bright, watching as Angela whisks by, dipping closer to the ground.

The rain has let up to a light drizzle, glistening like fire in the late afternoon sunshine by the time Angela lightly touches down on the slick ground. Fareeha is close on her heels. She takes her helmet off and laughs again. She shakes some droplets from her hair, the sun adding even more gold glimmers in her hair.

Angela steps inside, combs her fingers through her hair, flicks the water off of her fingers, and beams. She leans against the doorframe to catch her breath, trapping Fareeha outside to do much the same. She looks up and chuckles. “Ah, sorry.” She straightens up and steps inside.

“Oh, Dr. Ziegler!” Angela looks up, halfway through sweeping wet strands of hair out of her face. Winston stands at the end of the hall, broad shoulders barely fitting through the door. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Of course.” Angela pulls her hair back, stuttering as her fingers catch on the gold in her hair, but her recent exertion covers for the flush in her cheeks.

Winston gives Fareeha polite nod and turns to Angela. “Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou was looking for you.”

“Ah, she must have sent the data then.”

“Sounds like you already know then.” Winston nods. “I’m glad to hear it.” He looks between the two. “You seem to be doing well.”

“Yes, well,” Angela coughs.

“We’re making progress, I’d say.” Fareeha brushes past Angela, reaching out to ruffle her hair as she goes.

Angela stiffens up. “Now who’s awful?” She mutters under her breath. Fareeha throws her head back and laughs.

“Well, that was all.” Winston coughs delicately and backs out of the doorway. “Keep up the good work.”

“Certainly. Do pass my thanks on to Dr. Zhou.” Angela inclines her head. She looks away. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can, though I think a shower is in order first.”

“Of course.” Winston turns away. “The research is quite interesting, from what I saw of it. Good luck.”

“You as well.” Angela inclines her head.

“It sounds like you’ve got things to do.” Fareeha raises a hand in farewell as she disappears around the corner. “I’ll see you later then.”

 

* * *

 

“Cooled to…” Angela smooths down her still-damp hair and frowns. “Naturally… But…” She taps a few keys on her computer and brings up another document of complex data from Ecopoint: Antarctica’s life support systems. Evidently a power outage had caused most to malfunction, but before they did, they had recorded the vital signs of the people under cryostasis.

She turned her eyes back to the paper, pen lightly tracing along each line. It checked out. The results were similar, though clearly not to the extent of full stasis. Angela checked the page of the ecopoint data and made a note in the margins.

She eyes slid to the next column of text, quickly skimming over some footnotes on the next page. She stops, does a double take, finds a certain line again. She reads it once, then twice to make sure it’s correct. Her mouth goes dry.

 

* * *

 

“So I would like to launch an initiative to reclaim abandoned watchpoints and ecopoints,” Winston explains. He searches Fareeha’s expression hopefully. “I understand that most of these are under Helix’s jurisdiction.”

“They are,” Fareeha inclines her head. “But please clarify for me, what is the point? They have been searched thoroughly, most of them emptied.”

“Well, that is true, but there is a significant amount of Overwatch equipment and research still stored in those watchpoints—it would do us good if they could be turned over. The ones that have especially defensible positions, I would like to have as well. We have several agents in the field at a time; it would be good for them to have some secure building to fall back to.”

“Realistically, there’s only ever one or two in any given area, and these would move around fairly often as well. You can’t hold down a base with only two people, least of all if they’re gone half the time.” Fareeha shakes her head.

Winston sighs. “Then I would at least like to strike a deal with Helix. Turn over the remaining Overwatch equipment and data, and permit agents to enter Overwatch bases at their discretion.”

“That’s dangerous. We can’t just let people come and go like that.”

“I could tell them… _you_ who’s in the field at any given time, and where they’ve been deployed, so guards know who to look for. Those watchpoints in particular were built for a reason; it’s a waste of resources to let them sit empty,” Winston says. Behind him, an orange screen highlights the location of every Overwatch base in the world, detailing their condition, purpose, and size. Fareeha’s eyes keep drifting back to the angry red of the Swiss headquarters. She frowns.

“I’ll pass it along,” she says at last, “But I’m still not sure about this.”

“Hm.” Clearly not what Winston had been hoping for. “That’s the most I can ask for, I suppose.

“Speaking of reclaiming old bases, there is the subject of Antarctica…” He gestures behind him, where Ecopoint: Antarctica is highlighted at the very bottom of the map in dark orange. Defunct. “It is quite far away, and too remote to be of much practical use right now, but I have reason to believe it would be worth going back. I’ve spoken with Dr. Zhou about it, of course, and she seems open to the idea. As of right now we’re putting together a plan regarding it.” Winston taps on the node representing the ecopoint, and several images appear on the screen. Blueprints and photographs of the base. “As you can see, it’s built into a valley of sorts, enclosed on most sides. There is one bay door leading out. We have the key of course, but according to Mei, the generators are dead and she used the last of the power opening and closing it when she departed; it’s inoperable.”

Fareeha scans the images. “You want me to go over the top and restore power from the inside.”

Winston nods. “Yes. We would send aircraft, but the single helicopter pad is occupied, and there is no other place with enough space to safely land. If you could make it inside with a pack, just large enough to open the doors, I can start working on a longer term solution.”

“I see.” Fareeha re-examines the pictures. They show a ring-like facility, enclosing a few small, scattered buildings. Walkways form a courtyard of sorts with a radio tower in the center. A helicopter pad marks the northern end, the bay doors nearby. It’s easily low enough to fly over. “That should work.”

Winston relaxes and smiles. “That’s good to hear. I haven’t talked to Dr. Ziegler about it yet, but she has an interest in the ecopoint, so I would count on her presence.” He taps a few buttons and the screen goes dark. “As for the rest of the team, Mei, of course, and myself are going. I am also considering Satya. She’s quite capable, but Vishkar insists that she be kept out of any combat operations. Still, I think she would be excellent help dealing with a potentially decrepit buildings.”

“Quite a large portion of available personnel,” Fareeha begins, but nods. “But it makes sense.”

Winston shrugs. “Worst case I could always ask Orisa to come over and help defend the Watchpoint again, though if there’s anything that can make it past Torbjörn’s defense systems I have yet to see it.”

Fareeha chuckles at that. “He _is_ good. And I believe Efi and Orisa would be happy to lend their help. She seems quite enamoured with Overwatch. Reminds me of…” She trails off and averts her gaze.

Winston raises an eyebrow. When Fareeha fails to elaborate, he clears his throat. “Then it’s settled. All things considered, however, this is still a ways off. I’ll get more details to you closer to the actual operation.”

“Of course.”

Winston glances at the clock. “That’s all, then. Go get yourself something to eat.” He coughs awkwardly. “Er, you’re dismissed, that is.” He turns away, already muttering to himself.

Fareeha gives his back an amused look as she leaves.

 

* * *

 

Fareeha takes a moment just outside the door, taking in the cool night air and the soft light. She hears the door open behind her, the resulting gust of air pulling at her coat. Something tugs lightly at her sleeve. Fareeha looks down at the fingers at her elbow. “You missed dinner again.”

Angela doesn’t reply. She lets go of Fareeha’s sleeve and wraps her arms around her waist. Fareeha can feel her shaking. “Angela?” She lifts her arms and tries to twist around. Angela simply tightens her arms and doesn’t say anything. Fareeha persists, gently coaxing Angela to her side. “Come on.” She guides her to a suitably flat-looking rock, sits her down, and opens up her jacket. Angela leans in to her, and she wraps her arm and jacket around her shoulders.

It takes Angela a long time to say anything. “I can’t believe it,” she whispers. Fareeha waits patiently for any elaboration. She puts her head in her hands. “Symptoms of dissociative identity disorder? Mentions of previous fine motor skills and the build of the body should have been red flags enough.” Her head snaps up. “Do you remember the letter that I told you about?”

“The mysterious one that appeared without explanation?”

Angela nods, once again distracted. “It’s a person. She’s talking about a person. Maybe even more than one.”

“She?”

“Who else?” Angela’s tugs on her hair, her breathing harsher. “Who else has these resources? Who else would conduct human experimentation and then _write a paper on it?_ ”

Fareeha doesn’t reply. She looks out over the sea, not beautiful anymore, but dark, gloomy. “What does it say?”

“I don’t know.” Angela’s shoulders lift weaky. “I don’t know. It’s only been two days. I can’t be sure I’m reading it right.”

Fareeha leans into her, pulls her closer. She almost doesn’t want to ask. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Angela says again. “She doesn’t use a name. It’s why it took me so long to even realize… there are cross references to other experiments. I wonder if…” She starts shaking again. “Blackwatch.”

“Bad luck that McCree just left,” Fareeha murmurs. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Angela begins to count things off on her fingers. “McCree, or Genji, or both… if there’s anything left of the encrypted Blackwatch databases…” She gasps. “Talon. I need to talk to… If only he were still… Maybe Winston… or Lena would know…” She bounces her knee nervously. “I shouldn’t have said that,” she whispers, more to herself than anything.

Fareeha frowns. “Do you want my opinion?” She leaves her jacket wrapped around the both of them, but moves her hand to Angela’s, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “One thing at a time. Finish the paper; make sure you’re confident you understand it as much as you can, then make sure it’s actually true. And _then_ go looking for the resources you need. Lena, McCree, and Genji are all gone right now anyways. And let the rest of us help you.” She snorts. “I mean, I’ve been dumping all of my problems on you. It’s about time for you return the favor.”

“Ha.” Angela’s voice is flat.

“It’s worth a shot.” Fareeha settles down. “Do you want to stay out here?”

Angela considers it. She draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around. “This is nice, actually.” She says it almost like she doesn’t want to admit it. “If you’ll stay,” she mumbles. She leans on Fareeha, closes her eyes, and sighs.

Fareeha’s laugh rumbles warm and sweet in her chest. “Don’t fall asleep on me. Hana’s already incessant; she’ll be unbearable if she catches me carrying you to your room.”

Angela chuckles. “I bet _I_ could carry _you_.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Angela yawns. “I just think I could.”

“What did say about falling asleep on me?” Fareeha pokes her playfully in the ribs. “And that still doesn’t explain anything.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” Angela blinks slowly and yawns again.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” Fareeha pokes Angela again. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to bed?”

“Hmm.” Angela’s eyes flutter shut. “Maybe…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in comic sans because SOMEONE asked me to and it was terrible!!! Thanks :)


	38. Inflorescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's never a shortage of things to do at Watchpoint: Gibraltar. Sometimes the bravest people struggle with courage of a different kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wo-ah ~~halfway~~ almost there!

_“She’s…” She pressed her palm to her eye and gasped. Flickers of light danced in her vision. She doubled over, cradling her head, her breathing suddenly fast, ragged._

_There was a brief, tense silence, then fingers gently touched her face. “Is it the pain again?”_

_She flinched, and suddenly became still under those scrutinizing eyes. “I’m fine.” Her voice was cool, curt. “Let’s just go.”_

_“You need to tell me if—”_

_She turned away, all traces of her distress gone. Like a curtain drawn across a window. “We’re wasting time.”_

_“I’d prefer to make sure you’re okay first.”_

_“It was nothing.” She took a deep breath, then again, more insistently: “Let's go. The world waits for no one.”_

 

* * *

 

Angela sips her coffee and glares down at her desk. The messy stack of papers and notes glare back, brilliantly, sickly white in the light. She wonders if she can dim the lights somehow. Perhaps keep them off and get a lamp instead.

Her phone buzzes.

“Oh thank…” Angela breathes a sigh of relief, then frowns when she notices who it is. She turns away from the desk and puts her phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Good er… morning?”

“Morning, yes.” Angela takes another sip of coffee.

“Yes! Okay, good morning Angela! I was just—stop scowling Hanzo—how are you?”

Angela considers this for perhaps a little bit too long. How _is_ she? “Alright,” she says at last. “There’s been ups…” She glances at her desk again. “And downs. Did you need something?”

“Ah, that’s just how life is, isn’t it? But what is with that tone?”

“Genji…” Angela rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You assumed that I was calling because I needed something from you.” He sounds vaguely petulant. “I’m hurt.”

“You _usually_ call because you need something.”

“Okay, first, I never did that with the letters that I wrote; I even enclosed feathers! Just for you, not for me, and second, I never call you.” He pauses. “That came out wrong.”

Angela snorts.

“Anyways—Hm?” Genji breaks off, and Angela can faintly hear the sound of Hanzo’s voice. “Fine, whatever. I do need something, actually.” He doesn’t let Angela enjoy her small triumph for long. “What do you do if you get hit by a car?”

“If you get hit by a—” Angela sets her mug down, closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “ _Please_ don’t tell me you got hit by a car.”

“Well… it was a train actually,” Genji begins sheepishly, “and _I_ didn’t get hit by it.”

“Genji Shimada, are you saying that you hit someone with a train?”

“In my defense, it was very slow, and he had stabbed Hanzo.”

Angela notices a headache building already. “Genji, don’t you think it would have been better to tell me about that first?”

“Between the train and the blade, I was not sure which was the more pressing issue! Hanzo seems to be taking it very well, actually. Train man… eh.” There’s a shuffling sound and a faint, muffled shriek. “I feel kind of bad about it.”

“Have you considered taking him to a hospital?”

“Ah, right.” There’s another long pause. “I think I can do that. He is not bleeding… as far as I can tell.”

“Potentially worse. Have you considered taking him to a hospital _quickly_?” Angela hisses.

“Right away, Dr. Ziegler.” Some more shuffling and another quiet scream. “Quiet down, or we’re going to leave you here.” Genji’s voice turns even and cool. Some of his cheerfulness returns as he speaks to Angela again. “Though, Hanzo can’t exactly… I mean, him being who he is, and this area in particular… we are in trouble if he gets recognized.”

“You have a medkit, don’t you?”

“We applied some antibacterial and a tourniquet; so he’s not bleeding anymore…” He trails off. “Mostly. It’s quite deep.”

Angela sighs. “In that case, please come back to the watchpoint, where we can get him some proper care.”

The other end of the call dissolves into indistinct chatter. Genji’s voice resurfaces after several minutes. “He says no.”

Angela throws up her hand in exasperation. “You can’t just stick a bandage on it; it’s either a hospital or the medbay.”

There’s another long break. “He still says no.”

“Tough shit.”

“Angela! You have been spending too much time around McCree!”

Angela ignores the comment. “Ask Winston for pickup back to the watchpoint, or I’ll ask for you.”

Genji seems to consider this for a while. “Hanzo, we’re going back to the watchpoint,” he calls.

Hanzo’s voice is closer now, and clear enough for Angela to distinguish. “I refuse.”

“No you don’t. We’re going.”

“No.”

“Listen, brother.”

“What?” Hanzo’s voice is even closer now.

“Getting stabbed hurts, I know.” A dry edge creeps into Genji’s voice. “So… as your favorite little brother that cares very much about you… I’m taking you back to the Watchpoint.”

Angela raises an eyebrow and waits. Hanzo, for his part, is completely silent. “I’ll contact Winston,” Genji says. “Here we are. Thanks Angela!”

“I… didn’t really do anything,” Angela replies. “But I suppose you’re welcome.”

“Mm, yeah! Take care! Oh, and one more thing.” Angela pauses and waits. “Remember the value of a good break, and keep the people and things that make you happy close.” Before Angela can question him, Genji hangs up.

“There’s the Zenyatta in him,” Angela mutters. She looks to her desk again. _Remember the value of a good break._

Abruptly, she picks up her mug and steps out into the hall, closing and locking the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

“Was that a record for you?” Fareeha turns away to set the weights back on the rack as Brigitte sits up and reaches for her water bottle.

“Nah, but it was close!” Brigitte pants. “I think that’s it for me today, though. In terms of heavy lifting at least.”

“Well, maybe tomorrow then.” Fareeha chuckles. “Sure you don’t want to go scavenge up some extra breakfast and have another try?”

“You’re awful for my impulse control.” Brigitte trails off, presumably to take another drink of water. “Hey Angela!” She says brightly.

Fareeha almost drops the plate she’s holding. She instead opts to set it down slowly and carefully before turning around.

Angela stands just inside the doorway, wearing her familiar, long white coat. She smiles and nods as Fareeha meets her eyes. “Good morning.”

“What are you…” Fareeha takes a moment to recollect her thoughts. “Doing here?”

Angela shrugs. “Wandering. Thinking. Taking a break.” She looks around. “Frankly I haven’t been around here as often as I should.”

“Well, you’re always welcome to join us.” Brigitte stretches. She catches Fareeha’s eye and gives her an amused look.

Angela flashes a grin. “You never did tell me whether or not you wanted me to prove that I could lift you.” It comes out in a rush, a blurted sentence that, judging by the sudden tinge of pink in Angela’s cheeks, was only half thought-out. She coughs, reaches into her pocket, and pins back a strand of stray hair.

Brigitte perks up and stares at Angela. “Can you really? She’s got a lot of muscle on her.”

Angela can only half-suppress her smile. “I can see that.”

Brigitte doesn’t let Fareeha get a word in edgewise. “Muscle’s rather heavy, and she’s not exactly small.” She turns around and looks Fareeha up and down. “Pretty tall, actually…”

Angela grins again. “I know that quite well.” She takes a few more steps into the room.

“I want to see this.” Brigitte offers a hand. “Want me to hold your coat?”

Fareeha raises a hand. “Do I get a say in this?” She makes as if to say something else, but stops as Angela takes off her coat, tosses it to Brigitte, strides forward, and, in one smooth motion, sweeps her off her feet and drapes her over her shoulders. Her mind blanks, and whatever words she had are replaced with “Oh, okay.” It comes out almost like a squeak.

Brigitte whistles. “Nice.”

Angela laughs. “To be fair, I’ve had practice. And the weight’s distributed much more here,” —she cocks her head to indicate Fareeha— “than on a barbell.”

“Still, that was fast. I can’t say I’ve done that a lot; Reinhardt’s not exactly the sort of man you carry when he gets hurt.”

“He’s much more like the kind that you drag back to safety only when the fighting’s done, isn’t he?” Angela sets Fareeha down. “Thanks for being a good sport.”

“S-sure.” Fareeha clears her throat. “I need… water…” She seizes the excuse to turn away and hide the sudden warmth in her face.

“Anyways, Angela, if you’re just looking for something to do, we’re almost done, but if you want to stay for pushups and such?” Brigitte glances towards a small board on the wall, where an exercise routine has been written in Fareeha’s even, measured handwriting. She sounds vaguely apologetic. “I mean, stretch first, but if you want to stick around for what time we have left..?”

Angela shrugs. “Why not? I’d be glad to.”

“Glad to have you.” Brigitte nods at her. She glances over her shoulder. “You alright Fareeha?”

“Yeah.” Fareeha takes another sip of water. Mercifully, it’s still cool.

Brigitte turns to watch as Angela moves off to the side to stretch, waiting until she’s out of earshot. “Thirsty,” she whispers.

Fareeha looks up and gives her a curious stare. Brigitte sticks out her tongue. Fareeha looks down at the water bottle in her hands. “It’s important to stay hydrated,” she says blankly.

Now it’s Brigitte’s turn to stare. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Doing what on purpose?” Fareeha widens her eyes and blinks innocently at her. She tilts her head towards the mats. “Come on.”

“Don’t dodge the subject!” Fareeha pretends not to hear.

Angela joins them at the end of the first set. “Ah, this is going to be embarrassing,” she mutters. “I don’t believe I can match either of you.”

“You won’t get better if you don’t practice,” Fareeha says. “Just try your best.”

“Right.” Angela takes a deep breath. “I’ll try to stay competitive.”

Fareeha lets out a huff of laughter. “It’s not a competition, Angela.”

“It is if I want it to be.”

“Your loss,” Brigitte chips in.

“Brigitte!” Fareeha almost smacks her on the shoulder.

Angela snorts. “She’s right, but I’ll get her back for it.”

“Sure you will. Don’t overdo it.” Brigitte flashes a cheeky grin. Then, before anyone can say anything else, she hurriedly changes the subject. “Alright! Time to get to work.”

Fareeha shakes her head, but allows the conversation to lapse. No one spends their breath on idle chatter. Fareeha catches herself glancing at Angela out of the corner of her eye. Angela doesn’t seem to notice, focused instead on giving the floor under her nose her best determined glare. Several strands of loose hair fall around her face, slightly damp from exertion. _Cute,_ Fareeha catches herself thinking. She blinks the thought away and redoubles her focus on her own work.

 

Angela lays down and sighs. She folds her arms and props her chin on them, head tilted, watching the light glint in Fareeha’s hair. _This is nice._ Fareeha looks up and catches her eye.

Angela quickly glances away, scrambles to her feet, and busies herself by wandering to the board and idly reading over the various routines laid out on it. Aside from Fareeha’s, which she seems to share with Brigitte, there are a few others, mostly written in considerably messier scrawls. Angela thinks one might be Reinhardt’s, presumably also shared with Brigitte. Another is written in bright pink, in a small, rounded hand. Hana, judging by the tiny hearts and rabbits drawn in between the lines. Angela allows a bit of satisfaction to wash over her; they’re all well structured and relatively rigorous. It’s good to see.

Angela takes a step back and begins to pace around the room, curiously inspecting everything in it. There’s more equipment now than before, and it’s all well used, despite how often agents seem to cycle in and out of the watchpoint. And, thankfully, there’s a drinking fountain tucked into the far corner.

Angela returns to find Brigitte standing up, stretching her back and bouncing on her toes, humming. Fareeha meanwhile, sits cross legged, languidly scratching her neck and watching her. “You’re energetic today,” she murmurs.

“It’s a good day!” She glances towards a small timer set on the floor. “Okay! Third set.”

“I’m glad to see you’re doing well.” Angela sighs. “I wish I had half of your energy.”

“Optimism, Angela,” Brigitte chides. “I get to work out with two of my best friends _and_ there are leftover pancakes waiting for me in the fridge, now that McCree’s not around the steal them anymore.”

“You still have Reinhardt and Hana to contend with, don’t you?” Angela puts her palms down.

“Hana’s got enough of a personal stash to keep herself sated, and Reinhardt's off skirmishing with Winston today. Dad’s sitting around and bickering with the both of them about their armor while they’re at it.” She gives Angela a curious look. “They didn’t tell you? Must be confident that no one’s going to get hurt.”

“Confident that no one’s going to mind too much, rather,” Angela mutters under her breath. Still, she doesn’t say anything else, turning her attention back to focusing on her breathing. Her muscles are already protesting.

 

“Well, I’m thoroughly beat.” Angela lays down on her back. She closes her eyes for a long moment against the lights.

“Fareeha! Heads up.” Angela opens her eyes just in time to catch Brigitte tossing a small white towel to Fareeha. Fareeha, in the middle of taking a drink, doesn’t even look up; she just holds up a hand, snatches it out of the air, and drapes it around her neck. Brigitte looks down at Angela. “Angela?”

“Hm?” Angela blinks, takes a moment to process what she’s asking. “Oh, I need to run anyways; I can just use my own.” She sits up and rubs the back of her neck. “Thank you for letting me tag along.”

“Mm.” Fareeha dries her face and snorts. “Don’t thank us yet; we’ll see how you feel in the morning.”

“Eugh.” Angela grimaces. “That’d be one reason why I gave this up.”

“Fareeha! The point is to get her to come back!”

“Oh don’t worry. It’ll take more than that to dissuade me.” Angela sits up, picks up her coat, and folds it over her arm. “I’ll see you in the afternoon?”

Fareeha flashes her a soft smile. “Of course.”

 

Angela emerges from the shower, toweling off her hair, to be greeted with a blip of a message on her phone.

 

[Genji]: I realize that was weirdly cryptic this morning. You just sounded tired ^^

 

Angela picks her phone up, wraps her towel around her head, and sits down on her bed. She taps out a reply.

 

[Angela]: I think I needed to hear it. Have you gotten in touch with Winston yet?

[Genji]: We just need to retreat to a safer area for pick up. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.

 

Angela drums her fingers on her leg. She hesitates, and slowly taps out a new message.

 

[Angela]: Could I trouble you for some more advice?

 

* * *

 

“So the principle is such that…” Winston trails off and adjusts his glasses. He points at the bright screen on the table. “If we were to place a vent right here, it should stabilize.”

“That would ruin the structural integrity of the armor,” Torbjörn growls.

Satya sniffs disapprovingly. “The shields are exponentially more important.”

“Considering the world today, Ms. Vaswani, the more digital it is, the more vulnerable it is.” He strokes his beard and scowls.

“Armor is heavy, expensive, inflexible, and primitive.” Satya folds her arms across her chest and scowls back.

Winston intervenes before either can start a brawl. “ _Compromise_ , you two.” He turns and gives Fareeha a weary smile. “Good er…” He checks the clock. “… day.”

Fareeha inclines her head. “You as well. Though it sounds like you’re having a bit of trouble.”

“You could say that.” Winston rubs his temples and groans. “We’re trying to find the best balance on the suits here, but shielding hardware is… how shall I say this… specific.”

“I see,” Fareeha says, in the voice of a person that does not see at all.

“Now, here’s someone that has some sense,” Torbjörn interrupts. He turns to Fareeha. “Your suit doesn’t have any shielding on it.”

“Well, no,” Fareeha begins, but Torbjörn cuts her off but turning to Satya with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

“Take some notes from the Raptora suits! Top of the line in modern security.”

“Funny, coming from a man that so lauds the Crusader line, which focused around the shield, and designed so many shielded machines.”

Torbjörn bristles up at that. “ _Those_ were mistakes. And you’ll notice that combat-based models are armor-heavy!” He points aggressively at something on the table. “The Crusaders were no exception! And the Raptora—”

“She was in the middle of saying something.” Satya waves a hand and turns to Fareeha.

“I was saying that I’m not qualified to talk about it.” Fareeha raises her hands placatingly. “I know how it works; I don’t know why exactly it was made that way. You’re better off talking to the actual engineers and mechanics.”

“But you would agree that the armor is valuable?”

Satya interrupts. “Helix’s Raptora suits are designed for speed, fuel efficiency, and offensive capabilities: safely storing and shooting high-powered explosives, as well as reducing the recoil of the same,” she snaps. “This is an entirely different variety of suit for an entirely different function!”

Fareeha shrugs. “She’s not wrong,” she says, earning her a dirty look from Torbjörn.

Satya continues on. “In terms of _defensive_ capability, it’s undeniable that the versatility and self-repairing properties of hard light should be prioritized over simple metal.”

“ _Simple_ metal?” Tobjörn looks as if he’s about the pop a blood vessel. “Did you just say _simple?_ ”

Winston gives Fareeha a resigned look over the table as the two go back to bickering. Fareeha returns a sympathetic glance. “Where’s Reinhardt?” She asks.

“He decided to take his leave. I don’t know where.”

Athena stirs to life with a chime. “Reinhardt Wilhelm is in the garden.”

“The garden?” Winston cocks his head. “Ah, with Bastion.” He frowns at that.

Torbjörn breaks off at that. His scowl deepens. “Is that wise?”

“There has been no conflict.” Athena’s reply is even.

Satya also frowns at the mention of Bastion. “Allowing agents near a functioning Bastion unit… especially with Reinhardt’s history… that seems irresponsible.”

“I’ll go check in on them.” Fareeha excuses herself. “Good… luck,” she adds, looking over the table again.

“You as well,” Winston replies, giving her a grateful nod.

 

As Fareeha steps out into the evening air, the faint sound of conversation touches her ears. She’s greeted with a chirp and a beep as she comes around the corner. Ganymede, sitting delicately on the fence, chirps again. Bastion looks up and waves. Reinhardt is uncharacteristically silent, sitting in the corner and staring at Bastion with a look of intense consternation.

After a few moments, Bastion reaches down to the ground. They pick up a twig and offer it to Reinhardt, beeping apologetically. Reinhardt studies it, then suddenly relaxes and accepts it. “Thank you,” he says. His voice is slightly uncertain, but he seems to bolster himself. “My friend.” Bastion whistles happily.

“You seem to be getting along.” Fareeha leans on the fence. “Reinhardt, Bastion, Ganymede.” She nods at each.

“We may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Reinhardt says, puffing out his chest, “But it would be unjust to let preconceptions taint our interactions.” He looks rather pleased with himself at that.

“Well, it’s a relief in any case.” Fareeha smiles. “The others were worried.”

“That we would fight? We would never!” Bastion whistles in agreement. Ganymede echoes it.

“So, little Amari,  what brings you here this fine evening?” Reinhardt cocks his head, giving Fareeha a piercing look. He suddenly sits back and chuckles. “Aside from our brilliant company, of course.”

“Brilliant, hm?” Fareeha grins. “I’ve been here two whole minutes and I have not heard a single ludicrous story or poem.”

“Ah, I’ve been slacking!” Reinhardt raises a finger. “Have I ever told you about Istanbul?”

“Yes.” Fareeha props her head up on her hand. “Many times.”

“Hmmm…” Reinhardt scratches at his beard thoughtfully. “How about the most recent operation in Russia? The hidden mountain lair?”

“Haven’t heard that one yet.”

“Aha! You’re missing out, my friend.” Reinhardt settles down. “Now, we were several day’s travel into the mountains, and the frost was setting in early, as it was wont to do in that area. That night, I took the second shift. The night was quiet, but it seemed oppressive somehow.” He taps his eye. “My scar was hurting. Now, we had shut off the lights, you see, so as not to draw undue attention, so my eyes were sharp that night. All was quiet, but I knew. I knew something was coming. Lo and behold, there, in the distance…” He points to the side, out over the cliffs and the sea. Bastion follows his gesture and beeps confusedly. Reinhardt’s voice lowers to a whisper, forcing his audience to lean in. “A flicker. Just the barest little flicker of a light. You would have missed it in the blink of an eye. I would have thought it a twinkling star, if it were not under the horizon…”

“Settle in,” Fareeha winks at Bastion. “We’re going to be here for a while.”

Reinhardt either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “I rushed to rouse my companions from their slumber, and together we set out into the shadows. We scaled the mountains throughout the night, the ice and stone rough and cold beneath our feet…”

 

“… so the moral of the story is…” Reinhardt waits expectantly. The sky has been dark for a long time by the time he finishes.

Fareeha considers it thoughtfully. “Trust your instincts?”

“Well, yes, but also, do good every waking hour, day or night, no matter how difficult.” Reinhardt taps his chin thoughtfully. “And always pack a spare change of socks.”

“More than one, right?” Fareeha holds up three fingers. “I’ll take notes.” Bastion beeps and also holds up three fingers. Fareeha’s pretty sure they don’t know what a sock is.

“Yes! Very good!” Reinhardt claps. “Well, class is adjourned.” He scratches his head. “Eh.. did you actually need something, Fareeha?”

“I did,” Fareeha shrugs. “But now that I think about it… not anymore.”

“Good!” Reinhardt looks satisfied. “I’m glad to have been of service.”

Fareeha stretches, shivering in the cold air. “What time is it?” Bastion whistles, then chirps eight times. They pause, then start beeping. Fareeha counts on her fingers. “8:47?” Bastion whistles again in affirmation.

“Hm, perhaps it is time to bed down for the evening.” Reinhardt stands up, joints creaking. He winces. “At least for me.”

“ _Tisbah ‘ala kheir._ ” Fareeha straightens up and raises a casual hand. “Good night, Reinhardt. Or _gueti Nacht_ , rather.”

“Ha!” Reinhardt opens the gate, circles around, and claps her on the back. “That’s _gute Nacht_ to you! You’ve been spending too much time around the good doctor!”

“Oh no, I’ve been exposed.” Fareeha elbows Reinhardt lightly in the ribs. “My secret has been let out. I talk to Angela sometimes.”

“‘Sometimes’!” Reinhardt bellows with laughter. “Only sometimes?”

“Reinhardt!” Fareeha moves to elbow him in the side again, but with a surprisingly spry twist, he dodges out of the way and begins to make his way to the door, still cackling.

Fareeha watches him go, then turns to Bastion. Bastion gives her a thoughtful beep. She shrugs. Bastion replies with a knowing whistle. “Thanks,” she says. Bastion nods sagely.

Fareeha turns around and leans back against the fence, studying the sky and feeling the wind off the waves. Heavy clouds cover the moon. The air is damp and cold. She counts the breaths between the waves, notes the way they flutter when she thinks about it too hard. She twines her fingers together, thinks about it some more, and tries to pretend that she’s shivering because of the cold.

Bastion whistles again, quietly. Or was it Ganymede? Fareeha looks over her shoulder at them. Ganymede flutters over to land on Bastion’s head. Another hop plops the bird squarely in its nest. Bastion watches Ganymede settle down, then they both look up at Fareeha. Fareeha holds their gazes for a long moment, then sighs and turns away. “I have an idea,” she says, addressing the sky more than anything. “I wonder if…” She trails off and puts a hand to her face. “I don’t suppose you would have any tips on working up courage?”

Bastion, as per usual, doesn’t say anything. They reply with a chirp. Ganymede mimics it and adds a few tweets on the end for good measure. Fareeha cocks her head, and seems to think about it. A light drizzle begins to fall.

She abruptly pushes away from the fence. “I’ll have to see.” She turns around and inclines her head towards Bastion. “Good luck with the garden. Stay out of the rain, if you can.” Bastion retreats into a small den built against the side of the watchpoint. Ganymede fluffs up and cheeps.

 

Fareeha takes a moment just inside the door of her room to shake the droplets out of her hair. She reaches out, fumbles along the wall, and flips the light switch. She almost doesn’t notice at first, too busy combing her hair back into place to really pay attention. Her eyes settle on her nightstand, and her breath suddenly catches in her throat. There’s something new there.

Flowers. Fareeha approaches slowly, almost warily. They’re a deep purple-blue, transitioning to white and yellow at the centers. Irises. The stems are tied together neatly with a blue ribbon. Fareeha reaches out to brush her fingers lightly against the petals, and her attention is drawn to a small scrap of paper tucked underneath. She hesitates, then picks it up. Angela’s now-familiar, nearly illegible scrawl greets her.

 

_“I thought I should let you know that I’ll be busy all day tomorrow, sorry! But do you want to maybe take a walk after dinner tomorrow evening? If the weather’s good, I mean._

 

_-Angela”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Tisbah ‘ala kheir" (تصبح على خير) means "good night" (masculine) in Arabic, translating (roughly) to "have a good morning when you wake". There doesn't seem to be a really "standard" way of anglicizing Arabic, so this may be slightly inconsistent.
> 
> "Gueti Nacht" means "good night" in Swiss German. Big thanks to Elayn and Dliess for very patiently helping me out with this one! (And if you're reading this... so sorry again for bothering you at some very odd hours ^^;)
> 
> "Gute Nacht", likewise, means "good night" in Standard German.
> 
> Irises have traditionally held a lot of symbolic meanings across the world; the relevant ones here being trust, hope, and messages. Naturally, there's some extra meaning specifically in relation to Overwatch as well!


	39. Cliffside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fareeha does some shopping. She joins Angela for another walk and talk. It's a start.

_She was always good at going undetected. “Prowling,” Gabe used to call it. She had always liked that. It reminded her of the cats back home. She’d admired them since she was young. She thinks she might have told Reinhardt that, once. He seemed to have been too drunk to remember (the bar let them drink as much as they wanted for free, after the whole bastion squadron thing); she herself could barely recall much more than both Jack and Gabriel’s disapproving frowns. But then again, he had once bought her a little lucky cat, when he had been on a mission in Japan._

_“I don’t need luck,” she had said._

_“It won’t hurt,” he had replied. She couldn’t argue with that._

_It was a cute statue, at least. She could flick the paw and watch it bob when the deskwork piled up and the days got long. She supposed it was gone now. Shattered in the ruins of her office._

Too bad _, she thought._ I could use some luck. _After all, she had always been cat-like on her feet. But now, huddled on a slim ledge on the sheer cliff face, waves thundering against the rocks below, Ana Amari decided she’d prefer to be a goat._

 _Instead, she pulled her ragged cloak closer around her shoulders, rain slick on its oiled surface._ Like a duck wing. A duck would be nice too. A little less afraid of falling. _She shook her head. It was an animal sort of night, she supposed. Then again, that was natural enough. Humans weren’t made for clinging to cliff sides, certainly not in the middle of rainstorms._

_Her fingers were cold and stiff, even through the gloves. She looked through the scope again, squinting through the driving grey curtains of rain. The cliffs on the other side were reduced to a chalky smear, the watchpoint a dark blur somewhere in the middle. Ana thought she could occasionally spot a sparkle of orange or blue. The guide rails, perhaps. As per usual, the rest was dark. Winston was cautious, something which she noted with grim satisfaction._

_“It’s dangerous out here,_ anciana _.” The voice came from above and behind, far over her right shoulder, up on the cliff top._

_Ana cocked her head. Not a peep from Jack. “Yes, it is,” she said. “Better run home, before you catch a cold.”_

_“Take your own advice.”_

_Ana shrugged. “I think I’ll stay a little longer. Or are you going to make me leave..?”_

_Silence. Lightning flashed, silhouetting the cliffs in a heartbeat of brilliant white. Thunder rolled across the sky. The rain continued to pour._

 

* * *

 

The rain let up in the morning, only to be replaced with a heavy fog rolling in from the sea. Fareeha listens as the patter of the droplets on the mess hall windows lessens, and eventually gives way to a heavy silence. The fog obscures almost everything, replacing the view with a wall of pale, hazy grey. Fareeha considers it as she gnaws on a stale bagel, and eventually decides she likes it. It’s peaceful. Comforting, even. It almost makes her want to go back to bed.

 _Better not._ She has things to do, after all, but the world is such a nice, downy cloud… her eyelids droop.

“Rough night?” Hana appears in the doorway. She meanders over to the cupboards and begins rummaging around. “Could you hear the thunder?”

“Yes.” Fareeha eyes her, then goes back to watching the shifting fog.

“That’s rough. Can’t imagine you get thunderstorms a lot in Egypt, huh?” Hana pauses to scrub some sleep from her eyes, at the same time producing a slightly battered box of cereal. She shakes it, and elbows the cabinet closed.

“No.” Fareeha sits back and lifts her coffee to her lips. It’s dark, and slightly too bitter for her taste, but at least it’s warm, and helps her perk up.

There’s a series of clinks as Hana grabs a bowl and spoon. “I mean, you’d think I’d be used to it, what with all the video games I played… play, but it still freaks me out sometimes. Do you have a white noise machine or anything?”

Fareeha shakes her head.

“Maybe you should look into getting one.” Hana resumes rummaging around, this time in the fridge. “We’re low on milk,” she declares.

“We’re resupplying today.” Fareeha swirls her coffee and takes another sip. “I appreciate the advice.”

“Well, it helps me sleep at least. Each to their own of course. That’s unfortunate though.” Hana fills her bowl with a generous amount of cereal and carefully pours the milk until it’s almost overflowing. “You’ll have to wait if you want to requisition one.”

“I’m going into town anyways.” Fareeha yawns, finishes the last dregs if her coffee, and stands up. “So I’ll think about it.”

“Think you can even find one in town?” Hana looks doubtful. She plops down in a chair a few seats down from Fareeha, scattering a few Lúcio-ohs over the side of her bowl. “It’s kind of a small place, isn’t it?”

“Like I said, I have other things to do. I can keep an eye out, and if I don’t find one, then…” Fareeha shrugs. “Don’t have enough time to go all the way to the city, anyways.”

“Fair enough.” The conversation lapses into silence. Fareeha polishes off the last of her bagel, washes her plate and cup, and heads for the door.

“Have fun,” Hana calls around a mouthful of cereal.

“I’ll do my best.” Fareeha raises a hand in farewell, pulls her jacket closer against the morning chill, and slips into the hall.

“Wait!” Fareeha turns. Hana suddenly scrambles to her feet and appears in the doorway. “I just remembered that—nevermind, long story, but when are you heading out? I need to pick a few things up.”

Fareeha checks the time. “I’d like to wait until the fog burns off, at least. You’re welcome to join me.”

“After lunch?”

“Hmm…” Fareeha quickly runs through her schedule in her mind. “Works for me.”

Hana brightens up. “Nice! I’ll see you uh… out front I guess?” She pauses, then raises a finger. “Oh! And Lú might tag along too.”

“Sure.” Fareeha turns away again. “Don’t be late,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” Hana calls back.

 

Thankfully, the day is sunny, the fog and mist clearing well before noon to reveal a clear blue sky. With the sun comes the seagulls, either scavenging the beaches for debris that had washed up overnight or squabbling with the smaller songbirds hunting for worms in the grass. The wind carries their raucous calls up and down the shore and across the bay.

Fareeha settles herself in the shade of the watchpoint, idly jangling the keys and letting her thoughts drift. It doesn’t take long for the wind to bring her scraps of another kind of chatter.

“Can you even drive?” Fareeha cracks open an eye and watches as Hana and Lúcio approach.

Lúcio makes a so-so gesture with his hand. “Sure, but I’m really out of practice.”

“Aw, well, you could probably pick it back up really quick.”

“Maybe, but neither of us are driving today at least.” Lúcio gives Fareeha a look, and turns back towards Hana. Then, in his best stage whisper: “I’ve noticed that it’s kind of a matter of pride for older people.”

Fareeha blinks both eyes open. “Did you just call me old?”

“Older than me!”

Fareeha briefly considers throwing the keys. She thinks she could probably hit him in the head. “I can drive.”

“Told you.” Lúcio exchanges a look with Hana.

Hana frowns. “Alright, but I’m the actual mech driver here.”

“A mech that uses joysticks.” Fareeha mimes the motion and flips the keys into her palm. “It’s not as if it’s hard to drive around here.”

Hana looks like she wants to argue, but eventually concedes the point. “I call shotgun, then.”

Lúcio frowns. “Hey wait a minute, shotgun’s in charge of music.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “We all know you’re just going to play your latest album the entire time.” She shoves him playfully. “Have you ever tried classical or something?”

Lúcio huffs. “I listen to everything, as long as it’s good.”

“So… my playlist is good.” Hana raises her eyebrows and twirls her wrist. “I get shotgun.”

“You wish.” Lúcio pokes her in the chest. “Respect your elders!”

“More like—”

“Okay, I’m leaving.” Fareeha ducks into the garage, unlocking the old van as she goes. “Figure it out, or you’re both uninvited and I’m just going to take Angela with me next time.”

“As if you wouldn’t take her next time anyways,” Hana mumbles under her breath. “She probably has bad taste, you know. She’d make you listen to like… medical podcasts or whatever,” she adds, louder this time. She darts for the passenger side door.

Lúcio beats her to it. “Actually,” he says, sliding into the seat with a smug look, “I’m pretty sure she prefers rock.”

“Good.” Fareeha adjusts the mirrors. “Get in Hana, let’s go.”

Hana glares between her and Lúcio, then finally hops into a back seat, grumbling.

“By the way,” Lúcio says, ignoring her. “We’re not taking the newer car?”

“It attracts too much attention.” Fareeha casts a glance at the other vehicle, the Overwatch symbol painted in bright blue and orange on the side. She considers the light outside, then puts on a pair of sunglasses and begins to nudge the car slowly out into the sun. “The plain one’s safer.”

“I’m surprised they haven’t made us repaint it yet.” Hana lays down in the back, and pulls a small handheld console and a pack of gum out of her pocket. “The committee’s kind of um… what’s the word? Pedantic? About these things.”

“Let’s not remind them of it then.” Fareeha turns onto the long, sloping gravel path down from the watchpoint. “And put on a seatbelt.”

Hana makes a face. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Hana briefly looks like she’s going to ignore her, then slowly drags herself back up to sitting upright and reaches for the buckle. “I can’t believe I used to think you were cool.”

“Think of it this way.” The gate at the bottom of the slope opens automatically, and closes behind them. Fareeha raises her fingers, but doesn’t take either hand off the wheel. “On one hand, I make you wear your seatbelt and tell you not to curse too often. On the other, I pilot a flying, jet-propelled combat suit that shoots rockets, and I have a separate rocket launcher.”

“She has a point,” Lúcio says.

“Yeah, well, so do I, minus the rocket launcher part. You’re not special.” Hana sticks out her tongue.

“Get back to me when you make captain.”

“There are literally only five of us, and the captain isn’t a pilot.”

“Yes, well, there were only seven on my team. You’re not special.” Hana can see Fareeha’s grin in the rearview mirror.

“Anyways,” Lúcio cuts in, “you like rock?”

Fareeha shrugs. “I could go for anything. But yes.”

“Right, okay. I’ve got just the thing.” Lúcio begins to scroll through his phone. “This thing works wireless, right?”

“It’s old, but not that old,” Hana calls from the back seat. Her screen casts a blue glow on her face.

“I see that now, thanks.” Lúcio taps a few things, then leans over and begins to fiddle with the volume.

The music takes over the talking, with Hana absorbed in her game and Fareeha busy driving. The roads are all but empty, and the weather is nice and clear. Distant ships scuttle across the horizon. Lúcio alternates between writing in a small notebook and humming softly along to the music. The sun is warm through the windows.

The watchpoint had been built for isolation; its original purpose of building, testing, launching, and receiving spacecraft had required that a wide perimeter be maintained for safety and security reasons. Even after Overwatch shut down, the watchpoint remained separate from the rest of society, to protect what lingering secrets it may have held. Now, as the headquarters and only permanent base of the new organization, it was shrouded in an even heavier air of mystery and wariness. The compound’s closest neighbors have always been distant warehouses supplying the cargo ships that pass regularly through the strait.

In short, it takes a long time to get to the closest general store, and that store is small and mostly empty. A little bell above the door announces the small group’s arrival. The sensors on the omnic manning the counter brighten as the door opens.

“Hello!” They make as if to say something else, but suddenly pull up short. “Oh! You’re…” They trail off and begin making a quiet whirring sound.

“Are you overheating again..?” Another omnic, this one holding a broom, peers around the end of one of the aisles. They look towards the group at the door. Lúcio waves. “Oh,” they say.

“You’re…” The clerk tries again. “I’m… Er, let us know if you need anything!”

Fareeha nods and turns, padding down the nearest aisle. Lúcio and Hana trail her, eyes curiously sweeping the shelves. Behind them, the two store employees appear to be bickering quietly. Fareeha takes a moment to eye them over her shoulder.

“Don’t look so suspicious; they’re probably just fans.” Hana pokes her in the side. She holds up a candy bar. “How many of these do you think I can get away with?”

“Get away with?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“What?” Hana cocks her head. “Oh! Oh yeah, that sounded bad. I meant like, how many before I get in trouble for wasting my money or something.”

“You mean how many before Angela gets on you about eating too much sugar?” Hana nods guiltily. “One or two a day is probably safe.” Fareeha gives her an amused look. “Were those ‘few things’ you needed to pick up just junk food?”

“No, or else I wouldn’t have come with you.” Hana pokes Fareeha in the side again. “You’d tell Angela.”

Fareeha rolls her eyes, looks around, and begins to make her way to the back of the store, where the small office supply section and the equally small home decoration section are housed. Hana disappears somewhere to right, poking around the store’s very limited rack of books and magazines. Lúcio tucks a box of what appears to be citric acid under his arm and makes a beeline for the pens and pencils.

It takes Fareeha longer than she would have expected to find what she wants, not because the items themselves are particularly difficult to find, but because she spends so much time deliberating between them. At some point, Lúcio wanders up and begins to follow her around with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “You know they’re the same, right?” He says, after watching Fareeha look between some folders for several minutes.

“The color’s important,” Fareeha mutters. She doesn’t know how to explain why.

He seems to draw his own conclusions. “Guess the interior design of your own room _would_ be pretty important.” He taps his fingers. “Blue, maybe?”

“Or orange.”

“Sure, but that particular one is a… weird color, I think.” Lúcio cocks his head. “Kind of muddy… doesn’t seem like your type.”

Fareeha lingers a while longer. “You’re right,” she says at last. “Blue’s a safer choice.” She picks a few, looks around, and wanders on.

She spends a long time circling for the last item on her list, combing through the shelves and frowning vaguely. She suddenly stops in the far back corner. Lúcio peeks over her shoulder. “That’s odd,” he says. It’s a small glass vase, dappled orange, fading to yellow along its neck and towards the lip. It has a fine layer of grey-brown dust on its surface. It seems to be the last one on the shelf. Fareeha reaches out, brushes it off, and picks it up.

Hana meets them near the counter, holding a small stack of books, soap, and snacks. She grins and turns towards the counter as they approach. The two omnics watch her nervously. One prods the other in the back with their broom handle.

“Um, hello, good er… good day…M-ma’am.” The clerk fidgets. “So I was wondering if… I mean…” Their voice gets very small. “We’re big fans, so… we were wondering if maybe…” The other produces a pair of hats. They’re pink and slightly weathered, with pale blue peaks and Hana’s signature bunny embroidered on the front. “If we could… um… get autographs.”

Hana’s face brightens. “Aw, you two are so sweet. I’d be glad to, if you have a pen..?”

As the clerk hurriedly rummages around under the counter, the other omnic’s lights twinkle happily. “My coworker here’s a little shy, and prone to getting overwhelmed, so I’ve been trying to get them to come out of their shell, so to speak.” The clerk re-emerges with a slightly indignant stance and a handful of permanent markers: one black, one blue, and one silver.

“Yeah? That’s nice!” Hana picks the silver one and pulls the hats closer. “It’s okay to be shy, you know. Even I’m bad at talking to people sometimes, so I think you’re pretty brave!”

The clerk doesn’t reply, just starts whirring again. Their companion laughs. “Oh, and,” they add, turning to Lúcio, “We uh… I mean I bought your album…” He produces a slim green sleeve. “Could you sign it?”

“Sure thing!” Lúcio perks up and picks the black pen. “I’m glad you like it!”

“It’s really good! I like it a lot, so…” They hesitate. “We both admire all of you quite a lot, and I know the opinions of some backwater store workers don’t matter that much, but we’re cheering you on!”

“It actually means a lot! So I’m glad.” Hana flips the hats around and holds them out. “Is that alright?”

“Yes! Yes, thank you so much!” The clerk musters some words as they pick up one hat and hold it to their chest.

The other omnic sets aside their broom and carefully stows the other two items below the counter. “This is a surprise, though! I mean, we knew about the whole…” They gesture vaguely in the direction of the watchpoint. “But we never expected to see you around here.”

“Well, you’re the most convenient store.” Hana caps the marker and hands it back. She starts to pile her things on the counter. The others follow suit.

The two scan and bag everything with a practiced efficiency. Fareeha stands back patiently as Lúcio and Hana argue over who gets to pay. The argument eventually morphs into an elaborate tournament of rock-paper-scissors. Lúcio wins, and triumphantly produces his card.

“You’re not even going to try and contest him?” Hana rounds on Fareeha with an incredulous look. Mostly it seems she’s just frustrated at losing.

Fareeha shrugs. “I’m not a rich celebrity, am I? I was going to suggest just splitting it, but you two seemed to be having fun.” Her eyes drift to the clock. “We should probably be heading back.” She languidly reaches out and scoops the paper bags off the counter.

Hana’s hand darts forward and snatches one of the bags from her. She reaches in and fishes a chocolate bar out of its depths. “Have a nice day,” she shouts over her shoulder as she pushes the door open.

“You too!” Both of the omnics dip their heads and wave.

Fareeha shakes her head and follows. “One or two a day, remember!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hana breaks off another piece of chocolate and pops it in her mouth. “Come on!”

 

Fareeha whittles the rest of her time away with a shower and some paperwork, busying herself with writing her report while the sun begins to set outside her window. Her gut tells her to preserve any element of surprise, but everything else reminds her that she has a duty to be honest. She spends a lot of time pacing around her room, treading the edge between the yellow and blue rugs on her floor. She reluctantly decides to leave out any mentions of Angela’s research, justifying it to herself in that it’s unfinished, it’s just a strong suspicion, it needs to be looked in to more. That reminds her of Angela herself, and she finally sits down to write, too flustered to let her thoughts wander anymore. The evening comes both too soon and not soon enough.

 

* * *

 

“By the way,” Fareeha says, cleaning off her plate, “Have any of you seen Angela today?”

Reinhardt looks up from his mug. “The good doctor stopped by earlier to pick up some food. Haven’t seen her since. She seemed…” He strokes his beard thoughtfully. “Haggard.”

“She is absorbed in her research.” Satya wrinkles her nose at the smell of beer in the air. She sips her cup of tea. “I have offered her some assistance, but she’s largely kept to herself today.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha gets up. “Well, I’d better head out. Have fun drinking Torbjörn under the table.”

“Bah. He _wishes_ he could drink me under the table,” Torbjörn growls. He refills his mug.

Satya’s look of disgust deepens. “I suppose someone needs to be responsible around here.”

“Hey hey!” Brigitte perks up. “In that case, count me in!” She reaches for a bottle.

Satya gives Fareeha a silent, accusatory look. Fareeha raises her hands apologetically and hurries out the door before she can get roped into anything else.

 

The air is cool outside, but the sky is mostly clear, with only a few puffy blue and purple clouds painted over the horizon, their bottom edges feathered with the last golden-orange rays of the sunset. The first stars are already blinking into view.

“Should…” Angela, head down, muttering to herself, almost runs directly into her. “Sorry, I—oh!” She jumps. “You’re here!”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow.

“Ah, well,” Angela’s face reddens. “No, I mean…” She averts her eyes and gestures to the gravel path, taking a few steps forward herself.

Fareeha falls into step beside her. “‘No’ as in no, you didn’t think I would come, or no, you thought I would come?” She takes a quick look at the look on Angela’s face and laughs. “You don’t have to answer that. I’m just teasing.”

“Honestly…” Angela puffs out her cheeks, but she can’t maintain a serious expression for long. A shy smile flits across her face and she looks away to watch the sun set. “So…” she trails off. “Nice weather tonight.”

“Mercifully.”

“Hm?” Angela looks around and immediately cringes. “Sorry, force of habit.”

Fareeha laughs again. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Often enough.” Angela sighs. “It comes with the job, I suppose, but I didn’t pick it.”

“No one does, do they?” Fareeha shrugs. She takes a moment to look out thoughtfully over the sea. “But yes,” she says. “It is nice out tonight.”

The conversation lulls as each tries to think of something clever or interesting to say. Angela shoves her hands deep in her pockets and watches the world slowly pass by. The gravel crunches beneath their feet.

“What have you been up to today?” Fareeha finally breaks the silence. She shifts her eyes away. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh no, it’s fine.” Angela clears her throat. “I’ve been… well, I remembered another document from the database, so… I mean, I’d already read it but I came back to it with fresh eyes, and then used it as a starting point for combing through the index of… It’s a lot to explain.” She combs her fingers through her hair, alternating between pulling stray strands out of her ponytail and sheepishly trying to brush them out of her face. She stutters slightly as she realizes what that sounds like. “I don’t mean to say that you wouldn’t understand, I’m saying it’s not very interesting.” She laughs nervously to herself. “I’m sure you don’t want to stand there and listen to me lecture you about the logistics of sifting through modern databases and archives for three hours.”

“I don’t know.” Fareeha tilts her head. “It might be interesting. You’d have to tell me for me to find out.”

Angela opens her mouth, hesitates, then closes her mouth. “You… don’t actually want that,” she says, slowly. “It really is quite boring. Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Fareeha replies. “Did you say three hours? Are you being serious?”

“I’m always serious.” Angela grins. “Well, maybe more like only one hour. You know, Oasis’ databases contain a copy of every single known, surviving, unique published work in the history of written language. That’s an extreme example, but there are many other very large collections in the world. You need to have some… forethought before diving into it.”

“How do the librarians play into this?”

“Oh, they’re a great help, it cuts down on most of the work on my part. But, you understand, security concerns with this subject… I’m working by hand. Satya has been helping, and so has Athena, but she is also preoccupied with encrypting and decrypting sensitive things, restoring corrupted files, monitoring the systems…” She waves her hand.

“Ah.” Fareeha looks ahead again. “You know, Winston has been asking me to put him in touch with our—Helix’s that is—engineers.”

“Has he?” Angela gives her a curious look. “Only now? I would have thought he would want to be in touch sooner.”

Fareeha grimaces. “Politics. You know the… _questions_ that have been raised about both Helix and Overwatch. The idea of the two collaborating too much is already drawing criticism.” She shakes her head. “It would be easier to do our jobs if we had more public support, but, well. Past mistakes are mistakes nonetheless.” She lowers her voice. “Privately, I have suspicions that it’s also a matter of pride. Winston wants to prove that Overwatch can stand on its own. Helix needs to show that they can handle their current responsibilities.”

“But it’s still embarrassing for both if we can’t work together, isn’t it?”

Fareeha pauses, as if thinking over her next words. “I think we work together just fine.” Her eyes flick towards Angela’s face, but only for a moment. She clears her throat. “But yes. That would be a failure on both sides, and likely demolish any remaining faith most of the population has in either. I’m trying my best to make things go smoothly.” She closes her eyes and sighs deeply. “It’s been… slow. To say the least, but at least there hasn’t been any outright squabbling. We’ve come close a few times though. Winston was _not_ pleased when Helix suddenly pulled me out on such short notice last time.”

Angela, suddenly beaming, straightens out her face and nods along. “I can imagine. The prospect of scheduling conflicts, of all things, among the agents is…” Angela shakes her head. “He gets anxious sometimes, but he seems to be handling it all fairly well, thankfully.” She chuckles dryly. “Perhaps we should enlist Zenyatta as the official Overwatch therapist just in case.”

Fareeha snorts. “He might as well be, at this rate. Though from what Genji’s said, I think he’s looking to travel more from now on. Searching for enlightenment in all different forms, or something like that.”

“I wouldn’t begrudge him that, with all the complaining that he surely gets from all of us.” Angela rubs her forehead and frowns. “I vaguely remember… nevermind, I shouldn’t say that.”

“Now I’m curious.” Fareeha looks over at her, noting the embarrassed tinge in her cheeks.

“That’s too bad.” Angela lifts her chin. “You’ll never know.”

“Perhaps I should ask Zenyatta himself.”

Angela almost trips. “Not if I beat you to it, and ask him to keep it private, which he surely would.”

“It’s a race then?” Fareeha raises an eyebrow and laughs. “We both know who wakes up earlier in the morning.”

“Assuming morning is the next time either of us will be able to talk to him, hm?” Angela scowls at her. “We both know who stays up later.”

“We do, and it’s terrible. You need better sleep.”

“Like you?” A smirk tugs at the corner of Angela’s lips.

Fareeha meets Angela’s eyes again. “Maybe.”

“Well.” Angela turns her gaze back to the sea. The water is dark and dusky, crystalline in the light of the stars and the rising moon. “I’ll think about it.”

“Mm.” The conversation lapses again. The sound of the wind and the sea fills the quiet with ease.

Angela looks up and hums. “The moon’s almost full.”

“So it is.” Fareeha glances up as well.

The quiet, again. It’s comfortable. Fareeha closes her eyes, and breathes in the cool air.

Bastion chirps softly as they walk by, blue light peeking out from their makeshift den. They wave. Fareeha waves back. Ganymede squeaks and snuggles deeper into the nest, which had been moved to the top of the shelter.

“Good evening, Bastion,” Angela whispers. She crosses over to the garden fence. Bastion scoots carefully out into the open and trundles over. They make a few gestures and whistle lowly. Angela’s reply is too quiet to make out. She pulls a pen out of her pocket and holds it out. Bastion accepts it, and quickly returns it. Angela tucks it back into her pocket, nods, and turns around. She hurries back to Fareeha’s side, waving away her curious look and pointing around the corner.

“The welfare of _all_ those at the watchpoint are my responsibility,” she murmurs as soon as they get out of earshot. “But I never know what’s going on with Bastion… or Ganymede, for that matter. I’ve been trying to work out a system of communication. It turns out that Bastion’s resilient enough to not need any help, but Ganymede’s been having a few mild issues.”

“So you were conducting a house call?”

“You could put it that way.”

 

Some time later, Fareeha idly realizes that a certain side door is around the corner. It’s the one between the common and residential rooms, right next to the stairwell up to the second floor of bedrooms. They’ve almost made a whole lap around the entire facility. The moon is high in the sky now, shining brightly down from its zenith.

Angela slows her steps. “Fareeha, wait.” She reaches out, gently tapping her on the shoulder. Fareeha turns around. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about… something. If you have the time.”

“We’ve been talking all night, haven’t we?” Angela bites her lip and looks askance, refusing to meet Fareeha’s eyes. “Angela?” Fareeha steps closer, searching her face. Her voice softens. “I have all night.”

“I—Ah, how do I say this…” She whispers something to herself. “I’m sorry.” She winces. That’s not quite what she wanted to say. “We… had a bad start, and that’s at least partially my fault. Frankly… I didn’t choose my words very well. So I hope I can do better this time.”

“You’re still on that? Angela…” Fareeha trails off as Angela holds up a finger.

“I hope… I _know_ we’ve gotten past that, but I don’t remember ever actually apologizing to you. And the longer I wait, the worse it gets.” Angela takes a deep breath, and wraps her arms around herself. “I hope you can forgive me for that, and I know that’s a lot to ask, but I just _hope_ , because…” She searches around for her words again and mutters to herself. “I’m supposed to do this with confidence.”

She sighs and steels herself. “You amazing, wonderful person you. You, who came into my life so suddenly and eventually made it so much brighter.” She lifts one hand to her cheek and turns her head out towards the sea, trying to ignore the warmth at her fingertips and the tightness in her chest. “I love you so much for it,” she whispers. She closes her eyes. The world seems to slow down. “More than I know how to say.” She pauses, then laughs weakly to herself. “So much for choosing my words better.”

Fareeha is silent for a long moment, and Angela is too afraid to look at her face. Then, suddenly, she’s there, wrapping her arms around Angela, and she’s warm and strong and smells of jet fuel, like she always does, and Angela’s suddenly trying not to cry. Trying to remember how to breathe.

“I could say the same about you.” Fareeha’s breath ruffles Angela’s hair. “I was always afraid that… well, never mind.” She, too, closes her eyes. She ducks her head, burying her face in Angela’s hair. She smells like the medbay—like disinfectant and eucalyptus air fresheners. Fareeha contemplates that. Then, almost like an afterthought: “I suppose this means we need to have a proper date sometime.” Her chuckle, like a cat’s purr, is more felt than it is heard. “Will you go out with me?”

Angela punches her weakly in the side. “That’s my line.”

Another cat’s purr of a chuckle. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes.” Angela pulls away, albeit reluctantly. Her right hand, still wrapped around her waist, pulls a single red tulip from the inside of her coat and shoves it into Fareeha’s chest. “I couldn’t decide which ones to get,” she explains lamely.

Fareeha accepts it, and the smile on her face lights up her eyes. It lights up Angela’s eyes too. “Now you’re just spoiling me. Thank you.”

“It’s only a flower.” Angela rubs her eyes and checks the time. “I should try to get some sleep.” She looks up stands up on her tiptoes to brush some hair out of Fareeha’s face. “And you should too, hm? I think I’m going to be busy all day for a while yet, but you have my number. Give me a call sometime.” She pulls her coat around herself and begins to walk away.

Fareeha watches her go. “Have a good night!” She calls.

Angela pauses at the corner and looks back. “You too, Fareeha.” She rounds the corner and makes her way slowly towards the door, relief and exhaustion surging through her in equal amounts. “You too.”

 

Fareeha steps into her room, and closes the door. Only then does the realization fully hit her. She sags against the door, staring numbly down at the flower in her hands. It’s only a flower, but it’s real. She twirls it slowly between her fingers. It’s _real_ and it’s bright and it’s beautiful. She takes a moment to let that wash over her. Then, she strides towards the window and carefully places it in her vase, nestling it among the irises.

 

It feels good to smile so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Anciana” means “old woman” in Spanish.
> 
> The meaning of red tulips: a declaration of love.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh by the way, I'm... really bad at tagging things. Please let me know if you feel like I should add a specific tag. Thank you for reading!


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